


Caught in a Stitch

by ElisAttack, scannerbrain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, Explicit Language, F/M, FBI Agent Bucky Barnes, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fashion & Courture, M/M, Nazi Punching, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sharing a Bed, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14980847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisAttack/pseuds/ElisAttack, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scannerbrain/pseuds/scannerbrain
Summary: “Hey Steve, there’s some guy in a cheap suit asking for you."Bucky Barnes is an FBI agent investigating one Haus Hydra, long suspected of funding the shadiest of the shady. The problem is, to catch them he needs to infiltrate Fashion Week. Enter Steve Rogers, up and coming designer, and darling of the fashion world.Sparks fly, and old feelings resurface, because what's more romantic than taking down Nazis?





	1. Chapter 1

Natasha Romanoff stepped out of the Lyft, tapped through the tipping prompt, and looked up at the building before her. It was a simultaneously boring and bulky behemoth of attempted modern design. Hundreds of windows stared back at her like hundreds of eyes. Plus, she knew cameras were trained on every inch of this sidewalk.

And somewhere inside was the man who had interrupted her dinner date.

_Need to discuss something in person. Meet me at 7:30._

And she’d almost ignored it, but the next text message said it was about her job. And she had rolled her eyes, apologized to her boyfriend, and promised to meet him. Even though it involved changing back out of her pajamas and into actual clothing.

It was actual sacrilege, it’s what it was.

She walked up the front steps, heels clicking, and pulled open the door. Even though it was late, the lobby wasn’t dead. There were other poor saps here well past normal quitting hours. The FBI never slept, she supposed.

Natasha placed her purse and coat on the conveyor belt, her jewelry in the plastic bowl, and she pushed all of that into the mouth of the x-ray machine. She walked through the metal detector and couldn’t help but hold her breath.

There was nothing metal on her. But there was always a spike of anxiety when she stepped through the arch.

Silence followed her. She collected her belongings and walked to the front desk. She handed over her ID and explained that she was meeting Special Agent Barnes. The bored woman at the desk pushed over a log and a pen. Natasha signed and she was directed: Left to the elevators, to the very last elevator, then to the 39th floor.

Of course.

She stepped towards the elevator and tapped out a message on her phone.

_Coming up. Wait by the elevators for me._

It would prevent her from having to find him. It was the least he could do to keep her from wandering around in the half dead office.

She rode the elevator up to the 39th floor and the doors opened. The floor was a half-lit cubicle farm. Somewhere on the floor, she could hear a couple different people typing. No Agent Barnes to be seen.

She assumed that a guy as high up the chain as Barnes would have his own office. She spotted those on the far side of the floor. She walked towards them, hoping to spot some sign of the agent.

Halfway across the floor, Natasha heard him before she spotted him. Agent Barnes had heavy, distinct footsteps, like he was always wearing steel toed boots. It was like her own murderous, she-meant-business walk. He just had the weight behind him to make it sound like a herd of buffalo were heading right in your direction.

She smiled up at him.

Agent Barnes wasn’t a big smiler, but his eyes definitely brightened with recognition when he spotted Natasha. She always looked put together and he was a mess. He especially felt it with his five o’clock shadow, untucked and wrinkled shirt from yesterday, and undone hair.

“I’ve got news,” he said quickly when he got close enough.

Not good or bad. Just news.

“I’m glad that you’re not pulling me away from my date for no good reason, Agent Barnes,” Natasha answered. She stepped up to him and was pleased to see the pull of an apologetic smile on his face.

“Bucky,” he offered. “Sorry,” and he extended his hand. Natasha let him shake.

Bucky lead her back to his office. It was a hoteling space that he had clearly made his home. His laptop was surrounded by Chinese food boxes, papers, pens, sticky notes… Natasha was surprised that Bucky hadn’t started tacking up the papers and connecting them by red string.

He cleared off the chair across from his desk. The piles of folders were left sitting precariously on the edge of the desk. Natasha nudged them aside, closer to the middle of the desk, before she took the offered seat.

“Does your news involve the paperwork?” she asked. She crossed her legs and adjusted her skirt over her bare knee.

Bucky straightened up to examine the state of his desk. Of course, he was not inclined to clean up when it was just his coworkers that peeked in on occasion. But now, he felt shame at the disorder. “Kind of,” he started. There was hesitation in his voice before he continued, “I’ve been going over paperwork. It’s all clean. Haus Hydra is funneling money somehow, but it’s not in there.”

He glared at the pile of papers and shook his head.

Natasha looked at those piles of papers and wondered how many times Bucky had read and reread those papers. They were as wrinkled as his shirt, but covered in more marks.

Useless? All her work was useless?

“I don’t know what I can do to help you with that,” she said finally. He sat up straighter, fingers curling over the edge of her skirt. “I got you the paperwork you wanted. It’s not my fault that nothing’s in there--”

She heard a threat in his words, in his actions. She’d risked herself to get those damned papers and--

Bucky shook his head, “That’s not what I’m saying.”

And the fight rushed out of her with a little sigh.

“Nothing is changing. Your deal is still good.” Bucky looked at her and shook his head. “Can’t believe you’d think I’d fuck you over like that.”

“Well, I came from a place where I’d expect to get fucked over like that,” Natasha reminded him. She smoothed her fingers over the hem of her skirt. Her heart was still hammering. It would calm down eventually, but… “Then what? Clearly you didn’t call me out here to impress me with your findings.”

Ouch.

Bucky pushed the papers further into the desk. The pile knocked aside a couple cans. He picked them up, tossed them in the bin, and he turned around to lean against the desk.

“I told you about my field work before, yeah?” he asked.

Natasha studied him and agreed. She wasn’t sure where this was going.

“I’m a hands-on guy,” Bucky continued, gesturing vaguely with his hands. His left hand glinted in the fluorescent light of the office. Both he and Natasha seemed to notice it at the same time. He curled the metal fingers into a fist and wondered if Natasha could hear the subtle whirring of the bionic muscles pulling into place. “I _used_ to be a hands-on guy, before I lost the first arm. So, I thought maybe...”

He turned dramatically and put both hands on the desk. He was almost level with Natasha’s eyes when he bent over that way. “I need an in. I need to go undercover. And you’re my in.”

Natasha squinted at him.

“Let me be your plus one to Fashion Week,” Bucky insisted. “I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend and when I’m in--”

“No,” she cut him off.

That was… not how Bucky had been expecting this whole ordeal to go. He had been expecting a cinematic scene, breathless acceptance, and then they’d work through the night to plan out their basic game plan.

“No?” he asked, his head tilting to the side.

Maybe his entire daydream had been fueled by take-out and too much caffeine.

“I have a boyfriend,” Natasha reminded him. “Society knows I have a boyfriend. He’s gone with me to shows.”

Clint had been super proud when he’d caught a first sight of himself in the tabloids with her. He collected them. Natasha was a little concerned that he was still planning on framing them.

Before Bucky’s face could fall entirely, Natasha continued, “It isn’t a good cover for me to ditch my boyfriend abruptly for you.” She gave Bucky a grin, “No matter how fabulous your hair is.”

Bucky heaved out a sigh and raised his hand to rub at his face. “So much for my grand plan.”

Natasha shook her head, “It’s not a terrible plan.” She took out her phone and tapped at it. “I’m just not the right vehicle for your not-terrible plan.”

Bucky lowered his hand and lifted his head.

“I know a designer. He’s going to Fashion Week, he’s single, and he hates Nazis even more than you do,” she described. “Steve Rogers. I bet he’d be interested.”

There were a couple problems with what she said. Bucky would need explicit permission to bring another person in, which would require some begging and pleading, some extra funding, but not least of all…

“Steve Rogers?” he asked. “You got a photo?”

“Give me a second. The signal sucks right here.”

A couple moments later, Natasha held out her phone. Grinning up from the screen was a blond man with blue eyes. It had been years. There were clearly more tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt and different glasses, but it was clearly still him.

“I’ll be fucking damned,” Bucky breathed. He took the phone and scrolled down the page. It was a full article on New York’s newest fashion darling: Daring and outspoken and truly creative.

“I knew him,” he told Natasha. He hesitated a moment, then sent himself that link from her phone.

“Knew?” Natasha raised her eyebrows.

“We grew up together. Then just kinda… grew apart,” he gestured vaguely, then he scrolled up to the top of the screen again.

Natasha hesitated. “Maybe,” she offered, “Maybe it’s time to get to know him again.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve’s domain was a bustle of frenetic activity. The top level of the converted warehouse was lit by floor to ceiling windows on two out of the four walls. It was loud--voices and music and machines and the rustle of fabric. Even though they’d been preparing for Fashion Week for months, in between working on pieces for clients and charity work, there was still so much to do.

He loved it.

Every fucking second of it.

He leaned over his sewing machine, squinting at the seam. He couldn’t make his eyes focus. Everything was blurry. He blinked forcefully a couple times, then raised his hand up to rub at his eyes and realized the problem. He groped along the top of his head, found the glasses perched up there, and he dropped them down onto his nose again.

He looked back at the fabric in his lap. He could see it at least, the tension in his machine was off.

A grumble escaped his lips as he lifted the needle and the foot. After cutting the thread and setting aside the piece, he started to open the machine so he could try and diagnose this stupid, amateur nonsense--

“Hey Steve, there’s some guy in a cheap suit asking for you,” Sam told Steve from behind him. He looked over Steve’s skinny shoulder at the machine. He pointed, “Got some lint.”

Steve heaved out a breath, “I didn’t know you were my secretary.” He straightened up and gave Sam a grin, “He knows we’ve got lawyers, right? And that we’re not hiring at the moment?”

Sam shook his head, “What happened to ‘I’m not your secretary’?” It was followed by a breathy laugh. He straightened and gestured vaguely, “He said his name was Bucky. And that you’d know him.”

Steve hadn’t heard that name in years. Sure, he occasionally saw him pop up on Facebook. Saw him like posts about puppies or politics or movies. He thought his heart might hammer out of his ribcage.

Sam had continued, mumbling to himself, “What kind of stupid name is Bucky?”

Steve stood, hand on his back to try and soothe his aching muscles. Fashion Week was hell on his body.

Sam immediately looked at Steve and the way he stiffly held his body. He looked around the immediate area and found the ebony cane. He plucked it quickly from where it leaned against the wall and handed it to Steve. Steve curled his hand around the handle, carved with Celtic knots, and pressed it to the floor so he could force himself slowly to stand straight.

“Thanks Sammy,” he said with a grin. He gave him a wink and headed towards the front door.

* * *

The front door opened to a circular desk in front of a tall wall between two areas. One lead down a hallway to a couple large meeting rooms and a few smaller, closed-off rooms for privacy. The other side of the wall lead to the workspace. The wall itself was painting a neon blue and was busy with photos of Steve and the other designers with their clients or with students (Bucky assumed they were students). And above it all, there was a pink neon sign that read STEVIE R. It looked like the drawings Steve had scribbled when they were in high school.

Bucky had the distinct feeling that he and Steve were just too far apart at this point. They had been so close, but then life had gotten crazy. And now Steve was famous. An artist. And Bucky was an agent that somehow felt underdressed, even if he was wearing a suit that he thought he actually looked good in.

This might’ve been a mistake.

That thought crept in again and again while he studied the photos above the desk. He recognized these people and these places. He’d seen so many of these photos during his research. He’d spent most of the night and next day researching Steve. He found his records, his social media accounts, every article written about him. It was a strange thing to research. Up until the same time last year, there was nothing about Steve except his record and social media accounts. Then suddenly, he was the hottest thing since sliced bread.

How had he missed all of that?

“Bucky?”

Steve’s voice sounded the same. Maybe a little tired. But he was still distinctly Steve.

He turned and looked. Steve was a skinny thing. Wearing a pink sweater and skinny jeans and purple boots. He had different glasses than he had worn in high school. He still had the cane, but this one was different too. Not something from the hospital or medical supply shop. And--

He didn’t have much of a chance to think.

Steve crossed the space--he had a long stride for a short guy--and wrapped his arms around Bucky. His cane knocked into the back of Bucky’s knees. But he didn’t care. He hugged Steve back and was too aware of trying not to crush him in that hug.

“It’s been years, jerk,” Steve said when he pulled back. He was grinning up at him, practically vibrating with excitement. Bucky could imagine a tail wagging behind him.

Bucky laughed, “I could say the same thing to you.”

He clapped Steve’s shoulder and pushed him back to arms’ length so he could look him up and down.

“You’ve leveled up. You’re like a real adult now,” he teased.

“I’m gonna clock you with my cane,” Steve threatened and he raised it and tapped Bucky’s shoulder with it. He grinned all the same. “You want coffee or somethin’?” he asked, gesturing to one long counter top in the workshop. It was cluttered with coffee mugs, a sink, coffee makers, microwaves, and a couple mini-fridges, but it still had enough room for morning bagels or catering or cakes when it was someone’s birthday.

“Coffee would be great,” Bucky agreed. Steve turned to walk to the counter and Bucky followed him. He had to shorten his stride to keep from stepping on the back of what were no doubt expensive boots.

Steve gestured to the mugs, “It’s self-serve here.” He took a mug that had a slogan printed on the side: _You haven’t had enough coffee until you can thread a sewing machine while it’s running._ He poured himself straight black coffee.

Bucky frowned thoughtfully. Had Steve completely outgrown his sweet tooth?

He picked up a mug, something with brightly colored squares and a couple numbers on it. He had no idea what it meant, but he liked the reds. He poured himself coffee and mixed in some creamer and sugar. Then he looked out over the warehouse space.

If Natasha thought his office was a cluttered, chaotic mess, she clearly hadn’t been here. There were so many people working at long tables, surrounded by bundles of fabric, thin pieces of paper patterns with pencil marks and notes written everywhere, and what had to be several hundred dressmaker forms in various states of undress.

Steve held up his coffee to Bucky, clinking the mugs together, and then he took a drink from it. Bucky took a drink too.

“So, did you just come to catch up or…?” Steve asked. “You’re welcome to hang out, but I gotta keep working.” He pointed out an unmanned table in the middle of the room.

“Are all of you going to Fashion Week?” Bucky gestured around at all the workers. He didn’t quite want to reveal his hand--of course, he had a favor to ask Steve, but there was no need to immediately rush out and say it. Steve would probably be pissed enough.

Steve followed Bucky’s hand and noticed the metal. Anyone with half a brain could tell it was a Stark product, and the way Steve looked at it… he knew. His brow furrowed and it took a beat too long for him to answer, “Oh. Uh. No. My collection is going in and that means we’re all working towards the same goal. A couple of my designers have off-site shows.”

He led Bucky back to the table he had been working at. He set his coffee down and went to drag a chair over for him.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in Fashion Week,” Steve said when he brought the chair back, leaning on both it and the cane while he moved. “Unless you’ve changed a whole lot.”

Bucky took the offered chair when he was sure Steve wasn’t putting weight on it. “Thanks, blondie.” He grinned at him, then pulled out Steve’s chair for him. He could be nice too. “I’m not. Not really. But my boss was trying to book a hotel and everyone seems to be in town for it. We could only find a room in our price range at some shady hotel.”

Steve scrunched his nose at the thought, then shook his head. “What’re you in town for then?” he asked.

Bucky hadn’t quite expected the question so early on. While Steve settled back down and picked up his phone to turn on the flashlight, he considered how much he would tell him. “There’s a case I’m working on, but I can’t really…” He gestured. There were too many people around.

“Secret agent man,” Steve sang as he focused the light on the belly of his machine. Sam had been right about the lint. He picked up a couple little screwdrivers and started to use the tips to sweep out anything that might’ve been ruining his stitches.

Bucky laughed.

Steve glanced over, his eyes twinkling. “You really can’t tell me?” he prodded. He’d always been the curious type. “You’re clearly just rubbing it in. You’re important and have secrets now.”

“ _I’m_ important?” Bucky raised his eyebrows at Steve. “You have a brand named after you.”

Steve picked up a small brush and ran it over the metal pieces in the middle. He set it aside, closed the machine, and he gave Bucky another grin. “Yeah. Ask me if I’m important in a week. Fashion Week might kill me.”

It was clearly a joke but there was a stab of fear in Bucky’s heart. He’d spent so many nights as a kid worrying about Steve’s health, visiting him in the hospital.

All these feelings he thought had faded completely had been just lying in wait.

“I’m joking,” Steve insisted, “I’m joking. Get that stricken look off your face.”

Bucky did his best to tighten his expression, grinning at Steve, “You think a single week can kill you? You’ve survived until now. A week is nothing.”

The grin on Steve’s face softened. He swallowed down a nervous little laugh and tried not to blush. Not that he could really control it. He knew there was pink on his face and he turned from Bucky. He had to keep sewing.

“So, you’re in town for not-Fashion Week and you decided to come by and say hi?” Steve asked him. He picked up a scrap piece of fabric and ran it through the machine. The tension seemed better. Good. The last thing he needed was to bring another machine to the repair shop.

“I actually do have something to ask you,” Bucky admitted. It was better to be honest. Steve would be less likely to kill him if he was honest up front. “But I was hoping to have some alone time. With you. To talk about it.”

Keep digging that hole, Barnes.

Steve lifted his head and looked around the room. “I don’t really have time for anything, Buck--”

“--please, Steve. It’s really important.” Bucky leaned forward, lowering his voice. He clasped his hands between his own knees.

Steve looked at Bucky. It was almost like Bucky was praying to him.

Clearly it was important.

“Why don’t you come back at 10?” he asked him. “Bring take out. It’ll probably just be me in here by then.”

“10? At night?” Bucky repeated. “You’re working until then?”

Not that Bucky could talk. He’d invited Natasha over to work during dinner last night.

Steve shrugged and set aside his scrap fabric. He picked up the brocade he’d been working with before Bucky arrived. “Honestly, I’m usually sleeping here during the prep. There’s a cot in one of those meeting rooms back there.”

Bucky groaned, grabbing his own knees and tipping his head back. He raised his hand up to squeeze at the bridge of his nose.

“You haven’t changed at all,” he accused Steve. “Not one single bit.”

Steve grinned and repinned the pieces of brocade together. “So, is it a date, Barnes? Or should we wait until after Fashion Week.”

“It can’t wait.” Bucky lowered his hand and let it rest on the table top. “Okay. It’s a date. I’ll be here at 10 with take out. Thai? Mexican?”

“Indian?”

Bucky was sure they’d had this exact conversation before. Except they could both comfortably afford food now.

“Yeah, okay. Indian,” he agreed. He stood up and reached out to squeeze Steve’s arm. “I’ll see you at 10 tonight.”

Steve hummed his agreement, then he looked up at Bucky. “Oh, wait. Give me your number.” He picked up his phone, unlocked it, and handed it over to Bucky. Bucky smiled at the photo of Steve and Natasha together on the wallpaper. He opened the phone app, typed in his number, and hit send. His own phone vibrated and he picked it up. After ending both calls, he saved both numbers, and then handed the phone back to Steve.

“10 o’clock tonight. Indian food. I’ll text you when I’m picking up the food,” Bucky promised. He gave Steve a grin, a nudge, then he headed for the door.

“See you tonight,” Steve called after him. He looked back at his phone and the number there.

Today had turned weird. And it was only going to get weirder. He really wished Bucky hadn’t decided to visit now. He just didn’t have the time, no matter that his heart had fluttered the moment he’d seen Bucky. He set the phone aside and went back to work.

* * *

On his way out, Bucky caught the eye of the man who’d promised to fetch Steve. He nodded his head, smiled, and raised his hand in a wave. He raised his hand in return and gave a smile. It was stiff and didn’t reach his eyes.

Bucky wondered what faux pas he’d committed. That was a tight smile.

But it was fine. It wasn’t important. He’d see Steve later and it would give him time to formulate his plan of attack.

* * *

10 p.m. came much quicker than Bucky expected. He’d texted Steve, hadn’t gotten a response, so he guessed what curry he wanted. He had a large brown bag full of things that smelled amazing and he was taking the elevator up to the top floor of the building he’d been to earlier that day.

Outside of Steve’s workshop, though, the building was creepy. The top floor shone like a beacon, but the floors beneath it were dusty and barren, except for the occasional forgotten shelf or box. He had a clear view of each floor from the cage door of the ancient elevator.

He’d been expecting more people to be burning the midnight oil, but when he arrived, he greeted someone who was on their way out and then stepped inside. The roar of a bunch of people working had long since died down. Only one more machine hummed away. Now Bucky could clearly hear the music. He couldn’t identify it though.

He walked past the front desk and all the photos and found Steve sitting at the same table in… almost the exact same position he’d left him in, except now Steve seemed to have an almost fully realized jacket at the machine.

“Hey Steve,” he greeted.

Steve jumped and lifted his foot off the pedal. The machine stopped and for a moment, there was only music. Steve rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand, pushing his glasses up. They were askew on his skinny face when he turned around and gave Bucky a tired grin.

“10 o’clock already?” he asked.

“And dinner time.” Bucky looked around at Steve’s messy table, then decided against touching anything. “Is there an actual table we can eat at?”

Steve stood up slowly, rubbing his back. He leaned over the table to push aside some of his fabric or papers.

Bucky shook his head. “No.” He adjusted the bag to a single arm and he tapped Steve’s arm. “No, I know you. You need a break from work. You are going to step away from the machine--”

Steve glared at Bucky.

Changing tactics, Bucky pouted at Steve instead. “Please? It’s been years. And it’s important.”

His icy stare continued but, after a moment, it melted. He heaved out a sigh and rubbed at his face. “Okay. But only because it’s been years. And it’s important.”

He reached around blindly for his cane. He found it next to his seat, where he’d left it, of course. He leaned heavily onto it and pointed to one of the meeting rooms. Bucky could tell was itching to go back to work. But he was being nice. A good friend. A better friend than he had been for the past several years.

The more he thought about it, the more guilt began to knot his stomach.

He pushed open the door and the meeting room lights flickered on. Like the main room, it was painted a bright blue.

Bucky put down the heavy bag and dug their boxes free. Steve sank into a chair and took in a deep breath. His stomach growled loudly like he’d completely forgotten to eat lunch that day.

“You’re a godsend,” he sighed aloud. He leaned forward and started to open the boxes and unwrap the tinfoil around the naan.

Bucky grinned and set a bottle of water in front of Steve. “I could get used to hearing that.”

He fished out a couple styrofoam plates, plastic forks, and paper towel pieces that were clearly meant to be napkins. Soon enough, both had heaping servings of lamb korma and garlic naan. Bucky sat himself in the chair next to Steve and raised his own water bottle with a nod.

Steve tucked into his food, picking up chunks of lamb with the naan. As small as he was, he could put away plenty of food. He almost completely forgot to talk while shoveling food into his mouth. Almost.

“So...” Steve paused, swallowed the mouthful of food, then continued, “You said your boss set you up in a hotel? What’s in New York for you?”

Now was the time. Bucky hadn’t planned it out to the tiniest detail like he had with Natasha; that hadn’t gone so well. He could only hope Steve would agree.

Bucky took a drink from his bottle, taking that small time to collect his thoughts.

“I’m working on a case and I could use your help.”

Steve had a piece of naan in his mouth. He thought he might choke. He took a breath through his nose and swallowed it quickly. He took a drink of water. Only then did he respond, “The FBI needs my help?” He grinned cheekily, “Does the FBI still have watch lists for communists and all that? I just assumed I’d be on there and therefore exempt from becoming an informant.”

Bucky snorted out a laugh despite trying to swallow it down. This was serious. Very serious.

“There is a file on you,” he admitted to Steve. He grinned, “You’re a bad boy, Steven Rogers.”

The smile dropped off Steve’s face and Bucky felt a sick sense of pride at actually shocking him.

“What’s on there?” Steve demanded.

“Many things,” Bucky grinned wider. “You got arrested for punching someone?” he asked. “Like a year and a half ago?”

Steve’s right hand briefly curled into a fist. He raised his other hand to rub over his knuckles. When Bucky focused on his hand, he could see scarring over his knuckles. It looked like the skin over them had split.

“I punched one of my old coworkers for being a racist asshole,” he explained.

“There has to be more to that story.”

“Isn’t there always?” Steve reached for his bottle again and took another drink. “My very last internship was at Haus Hydra. They’re a real prestigious, ancient fashion house staffed by a bunch of terrible people.”

“I gathered that from your Twitter feed,” Bucky teased.

Steve stuck his tongue out at Bucky. “It’s one of those things you don’t really pay attention to when you’re not affected by it. But I started to notice things.” He frowned and folded his arms, though that didn’t last long. He leaned forward, scooped out another serving of korma, and took a bite before continuing, “They never hired anything but skinny, white models. They only hired white designers. White marketers. White business people. You see a pattern?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve continued, “And it all became too much when Sammy showed up to a casting call. He’s like _the_ top model in New York. He has been for a while. Who wouldn’t want to hire him?”

Bucky knew absolutely nothing about fashion, but even to him it made sense to hire the top talent.

“They didn’t,” Steve’s voice dropped to a growl. He tore off another piece of naan and pointed it at Bucky, “And do you know what that asshole said when I asked why?”

That asshole was named Brock Rumlow. His name was on the police report. There had also been a note that Rumlow had declined to press charges. It didn’t say why.

Steve continued, unphased by Bucky’s lack of response, “They said they didn’t hire people like him, except they used a slur. So, I punched him.” He punctuated the end of the story with a bite of the naan he was gesturing with.

Bucky leaned forward, raising his eyebrows at Steve. He pressed his hand to the table and finally laughed again. “Of course you did. I’d expect nothing less from you.” He turned a bit more serious when he told Steve, “You got lucky that he didn’t press charges.”

Steve frowned. “It’s weird that you know all this stuff.”

“Sorry.” Bucky bowed his head briefly, giving Steve an apologetic smile. “I had to do a bunch of research on you to convince my boss to bring you on as an asset.”

“An asset?” Steve blinked at Bucky, then he shook his head. He rubbed at his cheek and then leaned on his hand.

Bucky took another deep breath. “Haus Hydra is exactly what you think they are. And I have some evidence that they’ve been funneling money to a white nationalist terrorist group. I’ve been going over their finances and found very little to go on.”

Steve’s eyes widened. The glasses seemed to grow them to three times their regular size.

“I need someone to get me into Fashion Week,” he told Steve. “So I can find the information I need for my investigation.”

“What makes you think that you’ll find it there?” Steve asked. He sat up straighter, staring at Bucky in shock. ‘Terrorist group’ had sent a little jolt through him. “Is something going to happen then?”

The fear in Steve’s voice put Bucky on edge. He raised his hands and shook his head, “Nothing. Nothing that I know about. I just figure I can get in close and maybe overhear something. It’s… kind of a Hail Mary at this point.”

“I thought you said you had evidence,” Steve frowned at Bucky.

“I have a witness,” Bucky hesitated a moment, “Natasha Romanoff.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. “Tasha? She’s a witness?”

“You can’t tell _anyone_ ,” Bucky hissed at Steve. “All of this is confidential. If someone finds out about this, they could destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for.” He dragged his hands back through his hair, scrubbing roughly at his scalp. He lowered his hands again. “She said she couldn’t get me into Fashion Week because she already had a boyfriend and it would be suspicious to trade him in for the week. And she said you would be willing to help.”

Clearly Steve’s entire worldview had changed in those few minutes. Bucky couldn’t tell if he was shocked or furious or terrified. He wouldn’t have blamed Steve if he’d told him to get the fuck out now.

Steve licked his lips, then after a momentary hesitation, he said, “How can I help?”

Relief washed over Bucky. He leaned in closer, elbows braced on his knees. “My plan was to be your date to Fashion Week. I’d play your boyfriend, you get me behind the scenes, and then we find information to take these Nazi assholes down together.”

Steve studied Bucky’s earnest face, then he grinned. “This is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Bucky sighed and sat up, but he still had a smile on his face. He took a forkful of the korma and rice and tucked it into his mouth. He told him around the bite of food, “You’re going to have to teach me what I need to know to make it through this.”

There were a lot of things to consider. Bucky needed to be versed, somewhat, in his field. He needed to at least look like he belonged in this culture. And, Steve supposed, they had to really play the part of boyfriends to make the con work. “You should come by tomorrow. Spend the day with me. It’ll help get you situated and we can get our stories straight.”

Steve could be just as dramatic as Bucky. He was relieved: Steve would take it seriously _and_ he might not make fun of him for it.

“This is a very roundabout way of actually asking me out, Buck,” Steve teased.

Clearly, Bucky had thought that too soon. He snorted, “Well, it worked. You said it was romantic.”

“Taking down Nazis is romantic.”

Bucky grinned, poking at his korma. “I’ll come by tomorrow. What time do you want me?”

“Bring coffee at 8am?” Steve suggested and he gave Bucky a lopsided grin. “Everyone’ll know it’s true love since you’re bringing me food.”

“Coffee and true love, got it,” Bucky nodded.

After a few moments of companionable silence (or maybe it was awkward silence, while they both considered what they had just agreed to), Bucky asked him, “Is there something I should be wearing? I felt out of place in the suit.”

Steve looked up at Bucky, then down at the suit he was wearing. It was a dark gray suit with subtle pinstripes. It did fit him well, but it wasn’t the most fashion forward thing.

“I don’t think you’ll have anything in your closet that’ll help you fit in,” Steve answered honestly. “Especially if you’ve only got suits. We’ll have to raid some closets or at least go shopping…”

It was beginning to dawn on Steve that this was going to be a significant time sink. His stomach dropped. He would have to balance his workload with helping Bucky on his case. But honestly? There was always time to destroy Nazi scum.

“We’ll go talk to Tasha during lunch,” Steve told Bucky. “It’ll get us out on the town and if we’re noticed, it’ll add to your credibility as my beau.”

In the second before he answered, Bucky could think of about a million things he’d rather do than shop. “If you think that’s best,” he agreed. His answer was halting. There was no way Director Hill would agree to write off a shopping bill.

“She’ll open her closet for me. I think her boyfriend might even be close to your size,” Steve promised, giving Bucky a grin. “If you can’t find anything, we’ll rent. Purchasing is a last resort. We can always auction them off for charity after you become a big, fashionable action hero.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You have a lot of confidence in me.”

Steve smiled at Bucky, “You were good at getting me out of pinches when we were kids. I don’t think that’s changed at all, except now you’re saving a lot more people.”

Bucky reached out and fondly tapped Steve’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Thanks, blondie. Keep that thought for the next week and a half, yeah?”


	3. Chapter 3

After Bucky left for the evening, Steve went back to work for another couple hours. He ended up sleeping on the cot in the small private room in the back corner. When he woke, he dressed in clothes he’d kept in the office closet: An oversized sweater in a pale shade of pink with the words _Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!_ written in aggressive red embroidery, and a set of baby blue pants. He had the same purple boots from yesterday. They’d have to do.

Five in the morning, and it was still pitch-black outside, but his warehouse workshop was illuminated by the bright lights overhead. Steve settled down at his workstation and tugged the jacket into his lap. He pulled on a pair of magnifying glasses on top of his regular glasses, threaded an embroidery needle, and started in on one of the sleeves. An hour and a half later, Steve stood, started up the coffee maker and went to watch the sun rising over the city.

His phone buzzed. He plucked it from his pocket and looked down at the screen.

Natasha had texted him.

_You’re coming over later?_

Steve grinned. He adjusted the sleeves of his sweater before texting back.

_My new boyfriend is fashion challenged. I need your closet._

The only response was a cry-laughing emoji.

“Good morning Steve,” one of the designers called as she stepped into the workshop.

Steve turned and raised his hand to wave, all smiles. The coffee maker sang its siren song and Steve walked over to meet his designer and pour himself a mug of coffee.

The next couple hours went by in a blur of embroidery, chatter, and coffee. The sound of machines steadily grew until it became a cacophonous roar in the large space.

Steve didn’t hear Sam coming up behind him. He jumped when Sam leaned over his shoulder and stabbed the embroidery needle into his thumb. He hissed and stuck his thumb in his mouth before turning to glare at Sam.

“Sorry,” Sam said with a wince. “I just came by to tell you that suit guy is back.”

“Bucky,” Steve mumbled around his thumb.

“Yeah, him. He’s got coffee this time. Why’s he here again?”

Steve could hear Sam’s annoyance. He understood. This was crunch time and suddenly there’s this guy who Sam probably thought was a distraction.

“He-- He and I are dating.” Steve pulled his thumb from his mouth and examined the bead of blood on the center of his pad. “He’s an old friend who stopped by to catch up and… asked me out.”

Steve made a note to tell Bucky that cover story. He looked up at Sam, who was scowling.

“Don’t--” Steve started.

Sam started in with a hiss, “An old friend that conveniently happened to stop by while you’re getting ready your first big event and then just decides to ask you out.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s not like that, Sammy.”

He wasn’t sure if letting Sam think Bucky was a gold-digger was worse than Steve spilling the beans about what was actually going on. But he kept his mouth shut on that point.

“It’s always like that, Steve.”

Steve stood, sticking his thumb back in his mouth and leaning heavily onto his cane. Now everything felt bad. Sam stepped in front of him, both hands on his shoulders. He explained, “I just don’t want to see you get taken advantage of.”

Steve smiled around his thumb and pulled it from his mouth again. “I know, Sam. But, I’m not and he’s not. Okay?”

Sam hesitated, but he nodded, “Okay.” He slowly stepped back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Steve strengthened his smile into a grin and hobbled towards the front door.

Bucky was waiting, two coffee cups in hand. Steve caught his eye and he perked up, crossing the short distance between the door and the workshop opening.

“Morning, blondie,” he greeted and he leaned down to peck Steve’s cheek.

Steve had been expecting some awkwardness or hesitation, but there was none. He flushed a pink color. Bucky had been the lead in a couple school plays (and a couple trees). It seems he’d only sharpened his acting skills. Steve realized he’d have to play catch up when it came to acting like a new couple.

“Mornin’,” Steve answered, his voice little more than a mumble. _Since when was Steve Rogers shy?_ He lifted his chin and said again, “Mornin’. Whatcha got there?”

Bucky looked down at the cups, then he grinned up at Steve. “Sustenance. I figured you’d need energy for today.”

He offered Steve a cup with a little smear of chocolate on the lid and some residue from whipped cream bubbling up out of the vent. Steve grinned and he took the offered drink. Sipping, he sighed, “That’s amazing.” It was overly sweet, some concoction of coffee and chocolate. Exactly what he needed in the morning.

He raised his cup to Bucky and then jerked his head towards the workshop. “You planning on keeping me company today?” he asked.

“If you’d like,” Bucky said. He grinned at Steve and raised his metal hand to touch Steve’s cheek. Steve was tempted to turn his head and bite the thumb that rubbed over his sharp cheekbone. He stopped himself.

“I do like.”

Steve led Bucky back to the table and set down his coffee cup. There was a smear of blood on the white cup. Bucky must have noticed it, because he frowned.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, reaching out to take Steve’s hand delicately in his. He looked over the palm of his hand and found his injured thumb.

Steve rolled his eyes and ignored the warmth of Bucky’s hands. They were surprisingly gentle, as callused as they were. “I got myself with the needle. Nothing liquid bandage can’t fix. I honestly forgot about it until you mentioned it…” He frowned at that thought, “Thanks though. I would have probably thrown myself out the window if I’d gotten blood on my jacket.”

It was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes. “Drama queen. Where’s the first aid stuff?” He stood, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze.

Steve wondered if Bucky was doing his damnedest to convince Steve that they were dating too. “It… it’s up front,” he said after a moment. “Thanks for that too.”

He watched Bucky go. When he was sure he was far enough away, he fanned his face with his hand, then reached out to pick up his coffee again. He took a drink of it. When he put it down, Bucky had already returned with the bottle of liquid bandage. He dropped back into the seat and held his hand out. Steve, after squinting at Bucky, gave him his injured hand.

“It’s just like high school again, yeah?” Bucky said, twisting open the bottle easily with one hand.

“I think I stabbed myself less, and punched people a lot more.”

Bucky snorted, “Well, if what you did to that one Hydra guy is true, then I think you’ve leveled up your targets and your own recklessness.” He swiped the brush over Steve’s thumb a couple times, then put it back in the bottle.

Steve pulled his hand back so he could blow on his thumb. He’d have to wait some time returning to work on the embroidery. Goddamnit. He growled, then blew on his thumb again.

Bucky smiled at the frustration in Steve’s voice. Steve scrunched his face and scowled at Bucky, “You look too happy about this.”

Bucky forced himself to scowl, mimicking Steve the best he could. It didn’t last long. He found himself grinning again. “Sorry. It’s… y’know, just like we picked up where we left off.”

Steve’s face softened. “You’re not wrong.”

He straightened up and sighed. “Okay, until this dries, I don’t want to touch fabric. We’re going to run errands instead.”

“We just sat down,” Bucky protested. Steve had been walking so stiffly, leaning heavily on that cane, and it worried him.

“I didn’t know you were tired already.” Steve pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his cane. He tapped it a couple times on the floor, braced himself with both hands laced over the top, and leaned over to stare Bucky in the face. “Come on, Barnes,” he cooed. “Keep up.”

Steve had his coat in hand and was already on his way to the door before Bucky stood to follow. It only took a couple steps for Bucky to catch up. He fell in line with Steve’s step.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked. “Will you at least let me drive?”

Steve silently counted out the errands on his fingers. He stopped to hook his cane in the crook of his arm and transferred his coffee cup to his first hand. He continued counting on his second hand. He grinned slyly when he noticed Bucky looking progressively more panicked.

“We need to stop by Peg’s office and see if she’s got my passes. Tasha’s apartment is nearby, so we’ll just be popping in early,” Steve explained. He adjusted his coffee cup to his original hand, slid the cane down to his fingers, and resumed walking. “That’s all,” he said over his shoulder.

Bucky picked up the pace and passed Steve by a step. He held open the door for him.

“Aw, aren’t you a gentleman,” Steve cooed. He winked at Bucky and stepped through, heading down the short hallway to the elevator.

After descending to the ground floor and making their way to the parking lot, Bucky pushed the remote to unlock his car. It was a plain black Town Car that beeped at them.

Steve chuckled to himself.

“What?” Bucky asked. He went to the passenger side door and opened it, gesturing for Steve to get in.

“You’re such a fed,” Steve responded. He grinned at Bucky and climbed into the seat. He leaned forward to put the coffee cup in one of the cupholders and Bucky closed the door behind him.

He really was a good actor. All gentlemanly.

He looked around the car while Bucky opened the other door and sat in the driver’s seat. Steve noticed the bags on the back seat.

“Is your hotel so bad that your luggage is safer locked in your car?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky glanced at the luggage, then started the car. “I need to find a new hotel,” he told Steve. “Place has bed bugs, I had to sleep in my car.”

“Jesus, yeah, they’re an epidemic right now…” Steve shook his head. “You should have called me.” He pointed out the windshield. “We’re going to my apartment first. From now on, you’re staying with me.”

“Steve,” Bucky had his hand on the gear shift, but he left the car in park. “You don’t gotta do that for me. You’re already helping a lot and--”

“--And nothing. Even if we weren’t playing pretend boyfriends, I would have invited you to stay with me.” Steve pouted at Bucky, “Please. It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re in a clean place.”

Bucky thought back to those little biting bastards. He was grateful he actually hadn’t gotten into the bed, but had found them while doing a routine sweep of the sheets. It was an easy choice to make. Even if the hotel had other, less shitty rooms, he doubted they would compare to Steve’s apartment.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed. He put the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.

* * *

Bucky set foot inside the apartment, bringing his duffel bag and backpack along, and the whole place was just so _Steve_. It was a large, top level condo, bright and airy, full of color and art. The living room alone was bigger than Bucky’s apartment back in D.C.

“Come in, come in,” Steve nudged Bucky as he passed him. “You can put your bags in the bedroom at the end of the hall. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

The couch looked overstuffed and comfortable. It was also the only thing in the apartment that inched anywhere close to unstylish. Bucky was not going to make Steve sleep on it, but that was an argument they’d have later.

He did as he was told, passing a closed room and the bathroom in the hallway. He nudged open the half-open bedroom door and looked around. The bed was neatly made. Bucky didn’t remember Steve being a stickler for making his bed. He wondered if he had even slept in it last night.

Maybe that was why Steve was agreeing to let him take over the master.

He put his bags down just inside the door, tucking them up against the wall. Old habits died hard.

He returned to find Steve in the galley kitchen where he’d finished up his coffee cup and was tossing it in the trash beneath the sink.

“This is way cooler than my apartment,” Bucky commented.

Steve grinned, “It’s way cooler than any apartment I’ve had too. It’s new-ish still. I can’t quite get over it.”

He nudged the cabinet door shut with his foot and turned to face Bucky again. “I can give you a mini-tour, if you’d like?” he offered.

Bucky nodded.

Steve gestured around them. “This is the kitchen.” He pointed just beyond the galley, where Bucky stood, “That’s the eat-in area, though… I don’t usually use it for eating.” The kitchen table was full of papers, fabric, and magazines. This was definitely the Steve Bucky remembered: A messy creative type. Except, now he was a messy creative type that was occasionally featured in magazines.

Bucky spotted Steve’s name on one of the magazines and picked it up.

He wasn’t the headliner, but he was pictured with a Twitter logo in the background. The logo had a speech bubble with “#@S!” scrawled in the middle. The caption for the photo read: “Steve Rogers tears 'racist, sexist industry' a new one.”

“You work with Twitter too?” Bucky asked, holding up the magazine to Steve.

Steve looked at the cover and laughed. “I mean, I have a Twitter. I just get into a lot of Twitter fights.”

“Of course you do,” Bucky teased. He set down the magazine. He made a note to do some more reading. He’d glanced at Steve’s social media accounts, but he hadn’t read anything too thoroughly. “You’ve moved on from picking fights in bars, parking lots, and class. Now you yell at people on the internet.”

Steve grinned and walked past Bucky into the living room. “I win those more often,” he said. He waved around the room and tapped the coffee table with his cane. “This is the living room.”

The coffee table, like the kitchen table, was full of papers. This time, Bucky was sure he saw some sketches: Landscapes, people, animals…

“Is your apartment always this messy?” Bucky teased.

Steve blew a raspberry at Bucky. “At least there’s no bedbugs.”

The living room and eat-in kitchen were both plastered with art. Most walls were so crammed with framed pieces that Bucky could barely see the bright yellow paint between them. Some of them he recognized as Steve’s work. He assumed the others were local artists. He remembered Steve scrounging together money to buy art from people selling on the street. How many of those people had Steve hired when he’d gotten the chance?

“You see anything you like?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head and smiled back at Steve. “Just admiring your art.”

Steve beamed brightly and puffed out his chest. “Thanks. I’ve been collecting for years. Now I finally have a big enough place to display all of them.”

“Yeah, no kidding about the big place,” Bucky looked pointedly down the hallway, “Continue the tour?”

Steve grinned, “My last place was a shoebox.”

He turned and headed down the hallway. He patted the closed door. “This is my studio.” He kept going. Bucky looked at the closed door and decided not to push it.

Steve pointed to the next open door. “This is the bathroom.”

It was big enough for a tub. Jealousy struck Bucky. “Oh my god,” he groaned, “How did you find a place that wasn’t a shoebox and has more than a standing shower?”

“It was hard,” Steve agreed with a grin. “I don’t have any built-in closets, but the bathroom is worth the trade off.”

He stepped into the master bedroom and gestured around, “Last room: The bedroom.”

The bathroom and bedroom were the cleanest rooms in the house. Bucky was sure he’d get a good night’s sleep tonight.

He smiled at Steve, “Thanks for letting me stay.”

Steve studied Bucky, and his smile, hating how his heart fluttered. He was sure his palms were sweaty--his cane seemed to slip around in his grip. Did Bucky even know he was that handsome? “It’s no problem. I woulda let you stay earlier if I knew how bad the hotel was.”

They stood there with silence stretched between them.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Should we get on with your errands?”

Steve let Bucky break the tension. He nodded, “Yeah. Yeah. We should head to Peggy’s office. You’ll like her. She’s very no nonsense.”

“Like you?”

Steve grinned and walked around Bucky, “I mean, I’m a lot of nonsense.” He nudged Bucky with his elbow as he passed, heading down the hallway. “She’s got a mean right hook and she doesn’t suffer fools.”

Bucky groaned a bit, “Do you all have rap sheets?”

He followed Steve out of the apartment and down to his car.

* * *

It took half an hour to find decent parking. Some of that time was spent arguing with Steve about who was paying for it. Steve won. Bucky pushed back his seat while Steve leaned over him, hand on his thigh, to shove his card in the meter. He pulled it out, collapsed back into his seat, and grinned at Bucky.

“Take the ticket,” he gestured.

Bucky reached out and grabbed the ticket that the machine spat out at him. He imagined it was Steve’s tongue he was grabbing and yanking. The little shit.

They wove up several floors before finding a decent spot.

Steve was still gloating. He was all smiles as he climbed out of the car and met Bucky by the trunk. “It’s a couple blocks still,” he explained, reaching out for Bucky’s hand.

Bucky took the offered hand and let Steve lead him to the elevators. He punched the button for down. The doors opened, and they stepped inside. These elevators were filthy but at least they didn’t involve hauling up a gate. Bucky pointed, “Now why can’t you get elevators like these?”

Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, but the smile never left his face. “You come into my life after years and think you can judge me on my antique elevator?” He leaned forward and pushed the button for the ground floor.

“I was gonna judge you on other things first.”

Steve gasped and covered his mouth.

Bucky wondered a moment if he might have overstepped his bounds. Then Steve giggled. Honest to God, _giggled_.

Bucky swallowed hard to try and cover up the sound of his heart beating a bit faster.

So much for professionalism.

“I wanna hear what you’re judging me on,” Steve teased. “Please, elaborate.”

The elevator doors opened to the ground floor, blasting them both with a chilly breeze. Steve tucked his empty hand quickly in his pockets and hunched his shoulders up.

“I’m gonna judge you on not wearing a hat,” Bucky scolded. He put his arm around Steve’s shoulders and dragged him closer.

Steve stumbled into Bucky. His protest was briefly muffled by his coat. He squirmed to straighten his posture, to get his cane and footing beneath him properly. When he was solid again and walking with Bucky down the street, he shot back, “And deprive people of my glorious hair?”

Bucky shook his head and laughed, “It has a lot less power when you take longer than a beat to respond, blondie.”

Steve blew another raspberry at Bucky.

The walk was chilly but short. Bucky had almost missed Steve opening the front door to a large mirrored skyscraper. It looked like many of the others: Big, shiny, and ostentatious. The lobby inside was floor to ceiling white marble with brassy gold fixtures. It had been built in the 80s, or at least redecorated during, and not been updated since. The people milling around seemed like time travelers in this time-frozen place.

Steve and Bucky walked to the elevators and stepped inside the first one that opened. Steve pushed the button for the 50th floor. Bucky found himself studying the sign above the buttons. There was a listing for each floor or section of floors owned by a business. Floor 50 was currently owned by Marvel.

Bucky could not remember what Marvel was, but it sounded familiar.

The elevator doors opened to a set of glass doors. Beyond them lay a bustling office. The front desk sat in front of a black wall with MARVEL stamped across it in bold, red, serif. Steve opened the door and stepped inside. He walked right up to the receptionist--a young woman with a pink mohawk--and asked, “Hey, is Peggy in?”

The woman smiled brightly at Steve, “Hey, Steve. I was just about to call. Ms. Carter wanted to talk to you.”

“Even better.”

She nodded and reached for her phone, “Just a sec. I’ll let her know you’re on your way back.”

Steve grinned brightly at Bucky and held his hand out to him.

Bucky felt out of place now more than ever. He reached out and took Steve’s hand and held onto it like an anchor.

“You can go on ahead,” she said. Bucky could feel her sharp eyes on him. He wasn’t unused to attention, but technically he was on the job and attention wasn’t what he needed while working. Bucky gave her a self-conscious grin and let Steve lead him through rows of desks, mobile whiteboards, artists, writers, until he got to the large private office near the back of the floor.

The door opened and a woman appeared. Her expression was severe, emphasized by her red lipstick and carefully painted eyes, and framed by brown curls. She smiled when she saw Steve. Her attention moved to Bucky and she stopped, tipping her head at him.

Bucky recognized her too.

“Peggy?” he asked.

Steve glanced between the two of them.

Bucky continued, asking Steve, “This is your Peggy?”

Steve nodded and looked back at Peggy. She grinned again and greeted Bucky, “James Barnes. I haven’t seen you since the wedding.”

She walked up to Bucky, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She hugged him briefly, then reached up to touch his face. “Gabe’ll be excited to see you. Are you in town long?”

“I uh…” Bucky had been floundering a moment ago and now he was with the wife of an army buddy. He felt like he might actually be overwhelmed.

Steve cleared his throat and Peggy threw him a wink. “I haven’t forgotten about you, Stevie.” She left Bucky so she could press kisses to each of his cheeks. Steve returned the gesture. He grinned at the two of them and asked Peggy, “Okay, so explain how you know my boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Peggy turned to look at Bucky, puzzled. “Boyfriend?” she repeated.

Steve scoffed and shook his head, “You make it sound like it’s amazing that I have a boyfriend.”

“It’s not you I’m amazed about,” Peggy answered.

“Hey!” Bucky bit his lip and pouted. “It’s not that shocking.”

Peggy took both Bucky and Steve’s hands and lead them into the office. She released their hands and gestured towards the sitting area. “Sit, sit,” she absently ordered while going to pour them both a mug of coffee.

Bucky walked with Steve to the leather couches. He sank down onto it and Steve settled beside him. Peggy brought them both mugs and sat down across from them. She was grinning from ear to ear, like the cat that caught the canary. He knew Gabe was going to hear about every inch of this. Bucky felt a tug of guilt. It wasn’t real and suddenly his friends were involved.

“So, do you have time?” Peggy asked, “We’ll have to double date sometime.”

Steve stared blankly at her over the rim of his mug.

“After Fashion Week,” Peggy amended. She crossed her legs at the knee and leaned forward. Her eyes were fixed on the two men. Bucky felt like a bug under a microscope.

Steve grinned, “Good. We just started dating. So I feel like Fashion Week is going to be a trial by fire already.”

“Won’t it ever!”

Bucky had never been good at small talk. Steve had improved since high school. He was grateful for that at least.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. He blinked, suddenly alert. Straightening up, he fished his phone out of his pocket. The caller ID displayed Maria Hill, with a photo of his boss from one of their last parties, shoving a donut into her mouth on their way home while still wearing her gown.

“I gotta take this,” Bucky said apologetically. He patted Steve’s knee and stood. He took the call and walked to the other side of the office, where he was sure he couldn’t be overheard too easily.

* * *

As Bucky left, both Steve and Peggy watched him go.

Peggy turned to Steve and waggled her eyebrows. “He’s a catch,” she teased.

Steve snorted. “I know. I had a crush on him in high school and it feels like one of those bad romance movies, now that he’s back in my life.” Lies were always easier with a partial truth.

“You should write it down. Turn it into one of those movies…” She paused a moment. Then leaned forward, her attention on Steve. “Actually,” she began.

“Actually?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“The Fashion Week issue is heading to the printers soon,” she said and her expression contorted into something apologetic.

“And?”

“And there’s an interview with Zola in it.”

Steve groaned and rolled his eyes. He hoped his insurance would cover eyes sprained from rolling them too much. “Oh, Peg, for fuck’s sake.”

“I know, I know, but even if he’s an asshole, he’s an influential asshole.” She folded her perfectly manicured hands over her knee, “He talks about you in it. Says you’re ruining the industry.”

Steve squinted at her and lowered the coffee mug. “Oh yeah?” he asked. His voice was low and dangerous.

Peggy laughed at him, “I don’t know who you think you’re intimidating, Stevie.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “We still have room for a story to counter him. Something to distract from his nonsense.”

It wasn’t the first time Steve provided a counter article to some Haus Hydra bullshit. “I don’t have time,” Steve said with a pout. He took another drink. And then another. He finished it and set it on the coffee table between them.

“You don’t have to write it,” Peggy pointed out. “Just provide photos. Maybe we can do an interview with the happy couple?” She smiled expectantly and nodded her head to Bucky, who was still on the phone and staring out the window across the floor.

“An interview?” Steve grumbled. “I don’t have time for photos either. It’s crunch time and I’ve already wasted a few hours because I stabbed myself.”

Peggy shook her head. “Look, we’ll have our photographers. Just tell us a good time and place and I’ll send someone out.” She raised her eyebrows at Steve, “Maybe just a puff piece. We could probably get away with the famous Stevie R. dating a mysterious outsider.”

Steve considered this. Bucky had really been playing up the ‘boyfriend’ thing. Maybe this could help Bucky pass as his actual boyfriend?

“Okay,” he agreed. “Okay, but give me a day or two. I gotta make sure that Bucky looks the part for the show. We’ll be closet raiding today.”

Peggy held up a finger. “One day. Tomorrow. I need it then, okay?”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, nodding.

Peggy grinned and lowered her hand. “Thanks, Steve. I won’t even charge you for the passes.”

Steve had nearly forgotten. He sagged back onto the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh, thank God, you have them.”

Peggy stood and headed over to her desk. She pulled an envelope out of the top drawer. It had Steve’s name scrawled on it with a red pen. The ink had bled from the pen, leaving a smudge where she’d paused. She brought the thick envelope to Steve and handed it over.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Steve gushed, taking the envelope. He opened it up and pulled out the four passes, thumbing the corners gently.

Bucky finished his call, hung up, and headed back to the sitting area. He found Steve petting over something in an envelope. “What’s that?” Bucky asked.

“Fashion Week passes,” Peggy explained.

Steve tucked them carefully back into the envelope and slid it into the inner pocket of his coat. He patted it against his chest.

Bucky frowned, “Why do you need Fashion Week passes? Don’t the designers get in for free?”

Steve laughed and stood slowly. He smoothed his hand over his coat. “It’s not for me,” he explained, “It’s for my guests.”

Bucky pointed at himself and Steve shook his head, “Not you. You’re covered. This is separate.”

He gave Peggy a hug in thanks. He kissed her cheek again, “We’ve gotta get running. Got one more appointment to keep. But I’ll see you after Fashion Week?”

“I’m not letting you out of this double date rain check,” she warned him. But she grinned. She hugged Steve back, then looked at Bucky, “Especially you. You can’t go back to D.C. without it.”

Bucky grinned. He fumbled with the hem of his sleeve and answered, “Yeah. It’s a date.” One he would have to break. But, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Steve reached out for Bucky’s hand. Bucky took it.

Steve waved at Peggy and lead Bucky from the office. The stiffness in Bucky’s grip and his posture faded the further they got from the office. Once they were through the glass doors and in the elevator, Steve told Bucky, “We have to talk about it. Once this is done. How we’re gonna handle the… you know, ‘break up’.” He emphasized his point with air quotes.

Bucky nodded. The ride down was mostly silent, occasionally punctuated by other passengers’ comings and goings.

Halfway down, he remembered the envelope. “Who’re your guests?” he asked.

Steve frowned a moment, then remembered himself. “Oh. Oh yeah. Sorry,” he grinned a bit and adjusted his cane, “I’m sleep deprived. I promise I’m not being deliberately obtuse.”

He looked at Bucky and said, “I’m bringing some kids to Fashion Week. They’ve all applied for one of my summer internships and I figured, even if I can’t give all of them a position, I can at least bring them to fuckin’ Fashion Week.”

More passengers entered the elevator. Steve stepped back and closer to Bucky. Bucky raised his hand and laid it at the small of Steve’s back, to keep him from bumping into the wall.

Steve glanced down, then up again slowly. “I mean, like… Fashion Week is expensive and if I can give these kids an experience that’ll motivate them or inspire them or… you know, help them network? That’s the least I can do.”

Bucky curled his fingers against Steve’s back. “That’s real kind of you, Steve.”

Steve waved his hand dismissively. “Nah. It’s just something I have the power to do. So I should do it. I can’t keep my mouth shut or my head down. This is just another one of those things.” He was a rich man who didn’t stay rich for long. All of his money got invested back into the label or into community involvement. He was sure an accountant somewhere wept over the money he could be amassing.

The elevator finally opened to the ground floor. Steve and Bucky waited for the other passengers to depart and walked into the lobby.

“So, uh, you said to Natasha’s place now?” Bucky asked. He was stiff again. Steve wondered if he’d said something wrong. Maybe Bucky felt self-conscious about the money? That wasn’t an uncommon thing. Even Steve felt weird about having it…

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up her address. “It’s just ten blocks away.”

Bucky frowned thoughtfully, “You sure you’ll be okay walking? We can use public transit. Or I can get the car.”

Steve tapped the cane on the marble floor, “Please, Buck. I’m not some delicate little flower.” He grinned, “Besides, I’ll be doing a lot of sitting at Tasha’s, while you do your little turn on the catwalk.”

“On the catwalk, yeah,” Bucky repeated automatically. He paused and he groaned again, “I’m going to have that song stuck in my head the whole walk. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Steve grinned and led Bucky through the rotating doors.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Steve knocked on the heavy metal door of the dingy apartment, he regretted not hopping on a bus or into Bucky’s car. Despite the pain shooting up his back, he kept his posture normal and his breathing regulated.

He was getting impatient.

He knocked again.

There were footsteps beyond the door and he reached up to knock again.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand before he knocked a third time and guided it back down to his side, patting the top.

After a beat, the two listened to multiple locks clicking open. The door opened only a couple inches, held taut by the security chain. Natasha peered through the crack between. Her stern expression softened into a smile when she saw Steve and Bucky standing out in the hallway.

“Just a sec,” she promised.

She closed the door, freed the security chain, then opened the door fully.

“Come in, come in,” she gestured.

Steve smiled. It was a little strained, but he managed. He walked into the apartment, leaning heavily onto his cane.

Down the hallway, the shower was running. The living room Steve and Bucky walked into was neater than Steve expected. Even the rolling closet in the corner was zipped closed. Normally it was bursting with clothes.

As soon as both men were inside, Natasha closed the door and carefully locked up. There was an eclectic collection of bolts on the door.

Bucky turned to watch her and when she looked back at them, he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Thanks for your help,” he said.

Natasha nodded and smoothed her hands down her loose-fitting shirt. “You’re both early,” she explained, “I’m not quite put together.”

Steve grinned and teased, “You look more stylish than Bucky, even in yoga pants and one of Clint’s shirts.”

Bucky almost pouted, but he nodded after a moment, “Yeah, no, you’re correct.”

Steve patted Bucky’s arm fondly. He turned away to walk into the living room and sat down heavily on the couch. Taking the weight off his feet made his back feel instantly better.

The relief was evident on his face. Bucky squinted, thought about scolding him, then shook his head.

He looked back to Natasha, “We can entertain ourselves if you do want to change, though.”

Natasha frowned, then nodded a moment. “I’ll be back. Please, make yourselves at home.”

She spun on her bare heel and headed back down the hallway, red hair bouncing in a ponytail. She closed the door to the master bedroom.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, then Bucky shrugged out of his coat. He draped it on the couch behind Steve, and held his hand out to him. Steve sat up so he could wiggle out of his coat. Bucky took it and draped it on top of his.

“Are you always such a gentleman?” Steve teased.

Bucky grinned, “Ma raised me right.” He sat down beside Steve and patted his knee again.

Steve swallowed. Bucky was so good at acting. He was a little surprised that Bucky continued acting, even while they were with Natasha.

Before the silence could grow awkward, Steve’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and unlocked it. He smiled at the text message on the screen.

_You have a package!_

He could only hope it was the package from Shuri.

He responded with a thank you, and pushed the Home button. He eyed the Twitter icon on his phone, and tapped it with his thumb. The app loaded and he noticed he had a handful of new messages.

Natasha appeared in the living room doorway, changed into a full-length skirt and oversized black hand-knit sweater. Her hair was still in a ponytail, but it was neater this time.

“So,” she declared, crossing the room and unzipping the rolling closet, “I brought a bunch of sample items home and a bunch of Clint’s clothes are in here. We should be able to get you almost fashionable, Agent Barnes.”

The rolling closet still burst with clothing, but she’d taken time to cull the chaos for their meeting.

Bucky eyed the clothes, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow. He stood, examining the closet as he approached.

“They won’t bite,” Natasha promised. She gave him a wink.

Steve drew his feet up beside him and wriggled to make himself comfortable. He had to forget Twitter for now, especially with Bucky looking apprehensively at the rainbow of clothes inside the closet.

Natasha pulled out a shirt with a mandarin collar and a black plaid pattern at slightly different, carefully selected angles. She handed it to Bucky and gestured. She ordered, “Change.”

Bucky held up the hanger to look at the shirt more closely. It was black and white, sure, but it was far more interesting than anything he had in his closet.

He hesitated, but nodded. He draped the shirt on the back of the nearby kitchen table chair, peeled off his own jacket, and unbuttoned his shirt.

Steve glanced up from his phone, then quickly back down at it again. He was curious, but it felt like an invasion of privacy. Even though he was changing in the middle of the living room.

Bucky set his plain button up and jacket on the same chair, then pulled on the new one.

It wasn’t bad, from what he could see.

Natasha turned him around, hands on his arms, and she carefully smoothed out the fabric. Frowning thoughtfully, she said, “You’ve got a long torso.”

“...Thanks?”

Steve snorted, “Just because he’s taller than Clint doesn’t mean he’s got a long torso.” He glanced up from his phone, and looked Bucky up and down. He raised his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Just layer,” he suggested.

Natasha leaned around Bucky and squinted at Steve. “You’re not the only fashion prodigy in this room,” she teased. “That’s the second step. Or third. You let me do my work.”

Steve responded with a half grin. He pushed his glasses back into place.

“Okay, okay. Work your magic. At the very least you’ve got a real good canvas,” he agreed.

A blush blossomed over Bucky’s face. He cleared his throat and announced, “I am standing right here.”

Natasha patted his arm again, “Of course you are. But right now, all you are is a hanger for these clothes. Somehow we’ve gotta make you look like you belong at Fashion Week.”

She pulled back from Bucky and returned to her closet. She soon pushed a pair of yellow jeans at him and Bucky glared petulantly before announcing, “I’m gonna change in the bathroom.”

“Clint’s still in the shower,” Natasha pointed out. She paused and frowned. She slipped past Bucky and headed down the hall to the bedroom.

Steve lifted his eyes to watch Natasha go, then he looked at Bucky. He grinned slyly. “You can just change now,” he offered, “If you’re all shy about changing in front of her.”

Bucky squinted at Steve.

Steve only shrugged. “Fashion shows backstage have people running around half nude all the time. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”

Bucky continued to squint at Steve.

Steve waved his hand, “Hurry up. She’ll come back soon.”

Bucky sighed. He set aside the pants so he could unzip and drop his current pair. Steve whistled wolfishly. Bucky snatched up the new pair, but only had them halfway up his thighs when he heard two pairs of footsteps down the hallway. He yanked them the rest of the way up his hips and turned his back to the hallway so he could zip the fly.

They were uncomfortably tight.

Behind him, Natasha and Clint entered the living room. Clint was dressed, his was hair damp, and so was the collar of his shirt. Clearly defending himself, he argued, “Everyone naps standing in the shower.”

“No one naps while standing up anywhere, except you,” Natasha insisted while shaking her head. She spotted Bucky in the tight yellow jeans. “Oh hey, look at you.”

Bucky turned around, trying to avoid thinking too hard about how the jeans cupped literally everything. He was definitely not looking at Steve.

Steve couldn’t stop staring at him, though. It was some of his old fantasies coming true. Even if yellow wasn’t quite Bucky’s color.

“Maybe red?” Clint offered Natasha, “With the newspaper print sweater?”

Natasha folded her arms in front of her chest and tipped her head. After a moment of thought, she nodded in agreement. Clint grinned.

Bucky felt like a piece of meat. He looked at Steve, met his eyes, and both of them turned the slightest shade of pink.

Steve ducked down a bit, looking at his phone. He brought up the camera app and took a photo, subtle as a train wreck. The shutter sounded louder than a gunshot.

Caught in the act, Bucky pointed right at Steve. “Delete it,” he insisted.

Shamelessly, Steve took another picture.

“Delete. It,” Bucky repeated with an irked scowl.

“I’m not sharing it,” Steve insisted. “I just want evidence that you look good in things other than poly-blend suits.”

Bucky blinked in surprise. His hand wavered midair until he lowered it. “You think I look good in this?” he asked softly.

Steve grinned bigger. It had always been easy to diffuse Bucky’s anger, but it wasn’t a lie either. “The yellow isn’t great, but you have a nice silhouette.”

“A nice silhouette?” Bucky echoed sarcastically. “A nice silhouette doesn’t mean much when I can’t even move.” He lifted his foot off the ground, raised his knee midair, then set it down again. The pants were tight and stiff, even lifting his foot barely off the ground made certain parts of the pants uncomfortably tight.

“You just need to walk,” Steve insisted.

“I need to do more than walk,” Bucky said. He shifted his weight, turned his hip, and raised his fists to chest level, “I may need to kick some Nazi ass.” He snapped his foot in the air, and the tight pants tore right between the legs with a loud ripping sound.

Bucky turned tomato red when he dropped his foot back down. “Oh _shit_ ,” he breathed. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m so sorry.” He tried to look between his legs, at the tear that traveled from the fly and straight back to the seat of his pants.

Steve started snickering. He raised his hands to cover his mouth. From the hallway, Clint briefly applauded him, “Good job.”

Natasha draped a pair of red pants over Bucky’s shoulder while rolling her eyes. She ordered, “Here, change.”

Bucky still quietly apologized while he undid and pulled down the tattered remains of the yellow pants. He draped them over the chair. Natasha shook her head, “You are standing in a room full of people who can fix clothes. It’s fine.”

Clint crossed the living room and sat down next to Steve. He clapped his hand on his knee. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Steve.”

“Been really busy getting ready for the show,” Steve said. He turned a bit, sitting almost sideways on the couch, so he could watch Bucky’s little runway show and pay attention to Clint at the same time.

“When is it?” he asked.

“In three days,” Steve held up three fingers. It helped to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Three more days. “And then I might sleep for a month.”

Clint grinned. “Man, I want to sleep for a month and I’m not working nearly as hard as you.”

Steve waved his hand and made a ‘pft’ noise.

“Well?” Natasha sing-songed. She gestured flamboyantly towards Bucky with open hands.

Steve turned his full attention back to Bucky, and blushed. To avoid showing that blush too much, he raised his phone to take another photo.

Bucky stood before them in red pants, a mix of black and white patterns on the paired button up and sweater. Nervous, he shifted from foot to foot, swinging his hip back and forth, curling the fingers of both of his hands. Up and down. Left to right. He could not stand still.

“You look great,” Clint agreed. He raised a thumbs-up to Bucky.

Bucky sagged a bit with relief. “At least someone thinks I do,” he said.

Natasha grinned and squeezed Bucky’s arm. “That’s only one outfit. You need many more to get through the shows.”

Bucky groaned, but he was willing to oblige. The movies had lied to him about clothing montages. It involved awkwardly dressing and rearranging pieces, many critical eyes, and it was exhausting. Steve and Clint, however, played the part of distracted peanut gallery perfectly. He ended up with several days’ worth of outfits and a promise from Steve to help him dress each day, to make sure he actually looked the part of a fashion savant’s boyfriend.

“Oh my god,” Natasha said, bent over, as she dug to the back of the closet. “Oh my god, you need to wear this, right now.”

“Right now?” Bucky could not imagine what was so important that he had to wear it _right now_.

He turned around to see exactly what Natasha was talking about.

With one look at the monstrosity in her arms, he immediately decided enough is enough.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

Natasha whined, “Oh, come on, it’ll look great on you.”

“I think you’re making fun of me.”

Steve looked up from his phone and his eyes brightened. “Oh, shit, you got one?” he asked Natasha. “Oh shit. Bucky, you _have_ to wear this.” He set his phone down and leaned forward expectantly.

“You are trying to make my eyes bleed.” Bucky accused, squinting at the sweater. It was entirely made up of rainbow stripes in garish colors and, to top it all off, a blindingly colorful 12-inch patch of a tiger’s face on the chest. The tiger was screaming.

Natasha held it out, expectantly.

Bucky’s fingers flexed again.

“Please,” Steve pleaded behind him.

Bucky groaned. He snatched it from Natasha. Setting it aside so he could strip out of his shirt, he sent one more venomous look her way, before pulling it on. He smoothed the sweater down over his chest, then reached up to rake his fingers through his hair.

He turned around to face Steve, hands open at his sides, waiting for judgement.

“Well?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Steve lifted his eyebrows right back, and grinned. “The rainbow is definitely your pattern,” he insisted. “Put on regular jeans, then go ogle yourself in the mirror. You look _amazing_.”

Bucky looked to Clint for confirmation, and he nodded quickly in agreement, “You really do, dude.”

If a guy who said ‘dude’ without a hint of irony said he looked good, then Bucky decided to follow Steve’s suggestion. He grabbed the pair of jeans that Natasha handed over, changed quickly, and stalked off to the bathroom hidden in the bedroom down the hall.

Once in the bathroom, he examined himself in the full-length mirror hidden behind the door, frowning. That frown softened after a couple moments. As garish the colors were, they were right. He thought he looked good and he _liked_ it.

He headed back to the living room. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Okay. You’re right.”

Natasha pumped her fist in the air and turned to start folding up the other clothes, including the ones he arrived in. “Perfect. Keep it on. You’re wearing it out of here.”

That part Bucky hadn’t expected. “But this--” It was a lot bolder than he was necessarily comfortable with. He stood out. Operatives were not supposed to stand out. They blended into the background. They were forgotten.

“This makes you look like you fit in at Fashion Week,” Steve insisted. He scooted to the edge of the couch, then stood. Stretching his back out, it cracked loudly. He was feeling better after sitting for--he checked his watch--fuck. An hour and a half of fun had passed by in a wink. That didn’t even include the stop at Peggy’s office.

“I need to get back,” Steve said. There was so much work he needed to get done today before he could even start on the package that had arrived.

“Yes, yes,” Natasha agreed. “Help me pack up.”

Steve nodded and stepped around Clint’s legs so he could walk up to Natasha at the kitchen table. Natasha smiled at him and nudged him with her shoulder. Steve teasingly bumped her back, then carefully folded the clothes to fit into a bag.

* * *

A long walk, followed by a short drive, and they were back at Steve’s studio. Based on Steve’s gait, Bucky wished he’d insisted on driving to Natasha’s apartment. Steve was stiff as a board, trying to hide a limp, and Bucky knew he was hurting himself more by trying to hide that he was hurting.

They did stop to grab some food from a cart, a hot dog that Steve could eat quickly while they drove back to the studio. Bucky realized it was probably the only way he’d be able to get him to eat during the day.

They arrived at the studio, and headed upstairs. Steve had barely thrown away the waxy paper from the hot dog before he made a beeline for the front desk.

“Is it really here?” he asked excitedly, looking around the desk. He found a box. It was long and flat, about six inches wide, and had a customs form taped to it. He grabbed it and hauled it closer, then picked it up, carrying it to his workstation.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s cane and followed at his heel.

Steve pulled out his keys and dragged one down the taped opening. Pulling the gauzy fabric bag from the opened box, he squealed. He set it down on the table, tugged the ribbon to open it, and drew out a bolt of fabric; all bold, bright colors with bold, bright patterns. When he dragged his fingers along it, vibrant sparks of electricity danced along the lines of the patterns.

“What is that?” Bucky gasped.

Steve’s eyes practically glowed. He grinned and lifted up the bolt to show Bucky. A handwritten letter fluttered to the work table. Reaching for the letter, he held the bolt under one arm.

His smile only grew bigger.

“Shuri says she expects to see this fabric in my show,” Steve explained, “She gave me some extra so I could make somethin’ for myself too.” He grinned and held up the letter to Bucky.

Bucky picked it up and read it over, his eyes flickered back to the bolt, and then it clicked. “Wait, I’m sorry. Shuri? As in--”

“As in the Wakandan Princess,” Steve completed.

“You know a princess?” Bucky stared at Steve.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, we met on Twitter. She’s a hell of a fashion icon.”

He set the letter down and lifted the bolt to examine it. “Oh my god, it’s so beautiful. Sam!” He lowered the bolt and twisted around, hollering for his friend, “Sammy, come see!” He set down the bolt and pulled out his phone.

Sam came trotting over. He squinted at Bucky, his eyes dropping to the tiger screaming across his chest, widening ever so slightly, then he turned his attention back to Steve. Bucky felt… judged. He shifted uncomfortably and forced himself to keep his hands down, to not tug at the sweater itself.

“Run your hand over the fabric, Sammy,” Steve insisted, holding up his phone and peering at the screen, ready to take a video.

Sam looked down at the fabric. Fingers spread, he dragged his hand down the fabric. Electricity followed his fingers, racing down the lines of the pattern.

He gasped, and Steve cackled.

“This is amazing!” Steve opened Twitter and posted the video of Sam’s hand running down the fabric. He left it without comment, but then quickly replied to the tweet by tagging Shuri and a winking emoji.

Sam shook his head, “I can’t believe this.” He petted the fabric again. “What on earth are you going to make with this?”

Steve looked up from his phone and gave him a grin, “Something for your outfit. My top model needs a fuckin’ showstopper.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he asked Steve, “You sure you don’t want to make a gown or--”

“You are getting the most fabulous coat you’ve ever seen,” Steve insisted, poking Sam in the chest. “I can’t wait.”

Two and a half days to make a whole coat, plus finishing the embroidery on the jacket… Sam looked at the jacket on Steve’s worktable and he picked it up. “I’ll find someone who can finish the embroidery for you.” That would at least make it easier for him. When Steve got that look in his eye, he knew better than to try and reason with his dumb ass.

Steve opened his mouth to complain, but Bucky touched his shoulder and said, “A coat sounds complicated. You should focus on that.” Bucky smiled at Sam.

Sam scowled back, but answered, “Yeah. Your boytoy is right.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Sam, but he had already turned to go. Steve sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, “Sorry. Sam’s… uh…”

He didn’t know exactly how to explain Sam’s behavior.

“Sam’s protective,” he said finally, returning his attention to the fabric.

Bucky wasn’t sure what that meant or if he’d even done something to threaten Steve, but clearly, he was done with the conversation. Steve started rattling off things he’d need to do to finish the jacket. He sank onto his stool, reached for a piece of paper and a pen, and scribbled away. Bucky sat down slowly to watch him work.

* * *

Bucky wasn’t much help while Steve sketched, but he was able to help work out pattern pieces, cutting the fabric, and piecing them together on a mannequin. He liked being helpful, though he felt absolutely clueless. Steve was the expert.

When Steve described how draping worked, though, something clicked for Bucky. He’d liked building things when he was younger and draping was just a more delicate version of sculpting. He helped hold pieces in place, so Steve’s nimble fingers could carefully pin everything in place.

“Man, I should have you help on every project,” Steve hummed fondly. He smoothed out a piece under Bucky’s fingers, watching in awe how the bolts of electricity ran down the pattern, and drew a pin from the magnetic wristlet he was wearing. “It’s like having two whole extra hands.”

“Plus an extra six inches and like fifty pounds,” Bucky added with a tease. “I’ll hold everything, reach everything, and weigh down everything that you need me to.”

“You just wait until I’m wearing my heels. Then your six inches won’t be so far out of reach,” Steve insisted.

He nudged Bucky’s hands aside so he could adjust the pattern matching. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth. It was going to have to be done very carefully to make the effect work right. Good thing Shuri had sent him more fabric than he really needed. Sure, it was supposed to be for a personal item, but he’d be happy to sacrifice it for the final piece for his show.

Steve handed him another piece and guided his hands where he needed to hold it.

Bucky stared at Steve. He wondered if he had noticed the innuendo. Steve usually cracked when he knew he was making a joke.

“You have heels?” he asked Steve.

Steve finally laughed. “That’s what you focused on? I think I might’ve found someone’s secret kink.”

Bucky grinned. “I was just trying to figure out if I have to worry about you breaking your ankles, you clumsy ass.”

Steve laughed again and reached for more pins to hold the new piece into place.

The coat took shape on the mannequin slowly. When Steve stepped back to examine it, Bucky joined Steve at his side to look it over. He felt a swell of pride. Sure, he hadn’t known what he was doing, but he’d helped Steve make this thing.

He didn’t get a lot of opportunities to make things like this.

Or… make things at all.

This was fun.

His stomach growled. He glanced down, then lifted out his phone to check the time.

It was past dinner time already, and the studio was still bustling with activity.

“Hey, what do you want for dinner?” Bucky asked with a little nudge.

“‘m not hungry,” Steve answered. He tilted his head, continuing to stare at the mannequin.

“You should still eat,” Bucky insisted. “I could get Indian again?”

Steve mumbled a response and turned back to his table. He started scribbling on his drawing, a couple more thoughts.

“I’m going to get you food,” he told Steve. He touched the small of his back. “I’ll be back?”

Steve wasn’t really listening. He made another noise and Bucky took it as confirmation.

He picked up his coat and headed out of the workspace. He had just made it beyond the front door when he heard a voice behind him, “Hey, you.”

Bucky stopped in the hall and turned. He found himself staring at Steve’s friend, Sam.

Sam got right up in Bucky’s face, surprising him. As a model, Sam was slender and tall, but Bucky was also pretty sure this guy would put up a good fight if push came to shove.

And Sam looked like he was itching for a fight.

“I know guys like you,” Sam snapped. “And I’ll tell you right now, I’m not letting you take advantage of him. No golddigger is gonna come in and take what he worked his ass off for--”

Bucky raised his hands. He didn’t want to fight. Not with Sam and especially not here where they could make a scene. “I don’t want anything to do with Steve’s wealth or his job.”

Sam jabbed his finger square in Bucky’s chest. “You came in wearing some cheap ass suit. And now you’re flouncing around in a two-thousand dollar Gucci sweater. You can’t fuckin’ say you don’t want his money.”

The color drained from Bucky’s face. The sweater he was wearing cost _how much money_?

That wasn’t the point, he reminded himself. He tightened his jaw, and rolled his shoulders, squaring up to Sam. “One, it was a gift. Two, I don’t think it’s any of your business who Steve chooses to date. And three,” he leaned into Sam’s space, growling, “I would never, ever hurt Steve.”

Sam did not back away from Bucky. He was not intimidated and that didn’t exactly surprise him. Sam responded, calmly, “I’ll be keeping my eye on you. If you step out of line, even an inch, I’ll have your ass out of here so fast.”

Bucky had to reign in his response. He ground his teeth and finally said, “I would never.”

He pulled back and headed to the clunky elevator. He yanked up the cage, ducked in, and let it slam down when he turned around to face Sam. He smiled tightly, raised his hand, and waved.

Sam flipped him off and headed back inside.

* * *

When Bucky returned with dinner, the workspace was still hopping. The hum of machines drowned out the music. Steve was still at his workstation. He’d removed part of the coat from the mannequin so he could carefully stitch it together.

Bucky set the bag on the table, within Steve’s line of sight.

He waited a couple moments and Steve didn’t react.

“Stevie,” he said gently.

Steve blinked and looked up. He gave Bucky a grin, “Oh. Hey! You’re back! I have something really cool to show you.”

He looked back at the seam he was sewing. Holding up a single finger to Bucky, he leaned down again to finish up. He locked in the seam, lifted the needle and foot, and drew it out carefully from the machine.

He held out the piece to Bucky and told him, “Run your fingers over it.”

“You remember I saw this before, right?” Bucky asked. But he did as he was told. He dragged his fingers over the top piece. Electricity followed the lines of the patterns to the seam Steve had just finished. Bucky expected them to stop there, but at the intersection of lines that Steve had expertly matched, the electricity continued along.

“...What the actual fuck?” he breathed, leaning down and repeating the motion.

“I know, right!” Steve was gleeful. “I didn’t know what was going to happen, but then…” He pet over the fabric with his thumb and sent the same electric ripples down the fabric. “Shuri’s a genius. This is incredible.”

The two spent a couple moments more petting over the fabric, creating electrical patterns that overlapped and jumped when they crossed. Bucky touched Steve’s fingers and that seemed to shock him out of his excitement. He lifted his head and looked at the bag of food.

“I brought you dinner,” he said, reminding them both. “You need to eat some. A hot dog isn’t gonna sustain you since you only slept a couple hours last night.”

Steve pouted.

“I’m being reasonable,” Bucky insisted before Steve could protest. “You can eat some in between sewing.”

He made sure Steve had hold of the fabric before moving away to open the bag. The curry smelled amazing. Steve was sure to think so too.

Steve sank down on his stool. But he nodded. A couple bites here and there wouldn’t throw him any more off schedule than he already was.

Bucky was just grateful that Steve had agreed to eat. While Steve returned to work on another seam, Bucky made up a proper plate with rice and curry and naan and he set it out of splatter range of the beautiful fabric. Once Steve’s was settled, he made his own and set his plate on his knees. He wouldn’t risk it going anywhere near the work table.

Between seams and pinning new pieces, Bucky managed to get Steve to finish off half his plate. Bucky had already eaten his by the same time.

Even though Steve had eaten, Bucky was pretty sure he was starting to lag. They weren’t spring chickens anymore. Less than the necessary hours of sleep meant they were going to hit that wall harder than they would have in high school.

But he’d already convinced Steve to eat dinner. Convincing him to leave would take longer.

He’d give him a couple of hours.

For those hours, he cleaned around Steve, handed him tools, pins, and fetched him more coffee. People started to file out, taking pieces of projects with them. All of them said good bye and wished them good night and Steve barely acknowledged them. Bucky waved at each and every one, smiling apologetically. None of them seemed offended.

They were probably used to this kind of crunch time, used to Steve’s single-minded obsession with whatever he was working on at the time.

Soon enough, they were the last two in the studio. It was nearly midnight and Bucky flipped through the ancient iPod in the speaker deck. He found some Bowie, selected a song, and turned his attention back to Steve.

Steve hunched over the machine, pressed his foot to the pedal, and guided the fabric through. It hummed along, working thread through the thin fabric.

Bucky made his way back to the table and sat down.

It’ll soon be time to nudge Steve homeward bound, and straight to bed.

Steve finished the seam, lifted the needle and foot, and sat back. He arched his spine like a cat, squeezed his eyes shut, and yawned. He raised his arms in the air to stretch and the fabric from the machine went with him.

It swatted him in the face and Steve’s eyes snapped open.

Bucky furrowed his brow. He reached out to tug at the fabric, but Steve’s sleeve slid down with it.

Steve groaned. He’d sewn the fabric to his own sleeve.

“Can you get me a seam ripper?” Steve asked tersely. Barely contained rage was bubbling just beneath the surface.

Bucky popped up to his feet and went to a long shelf that contained boxes and drawers of supplies. He found one that was labeled ‘Seam Rippers’ in messy permanent marker and pulled one out. He brought it back to Steve.

Steve took the small tool and lifted his arm to pick at the stitches.

His eyes were blurry, and he was pissed. Those stitches were not easy to remove.

“Easy,” Bucky finally coaxed. He reached for the seam ripper when Steve’s fingers clenched around the plastic handle. He took it, then his arm into his lap. He leaned down so he could carefully work each of the stitches free from his sleeve without damaging either.

It was slow going.

Bucky glanced up when Steve raised his free hand. Steve pushed his glasses up and rubbed at one of his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Maybe we should get going once you’re free?” Bucky suggested. It was a risk.

Steve groaned and protested, “I have so much work to do.”

Bucky pointed at Steve’s arm. “You just sewed your silly sweater to your work. If you keep going like this, you’re just going to do more damage than good.”

There was a long pause and Bucky was pretty certain that Steve was just thinking up a colorful way to tell him to go fuck himself.

Instead, Steve said quietly, “It’s not silly.”

Bucky laughed and resumed plucking at the stitching. “It’s so silly. What does it even mean? ‘Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!’ It’s like those pictures you see on the internet of English shirts in Japanese stores.”

“It’s a movie,” Steve groaned. “How do you not know Russ Meyer’s crowning achievement?”

Bucky finished the last stitch and eased the fabric away from Steve’s sleeve. He set it aside. He shook his head and stood up, offering Steve his hand, “I’ve never seen this movie. It sounds ridiculous.”

“It is,” Steve said. He looked at Bucky’s hand and took it. Bucky pulled him to his feet.

Steve continued, “We’re going to go home and watch it.”

Bucky frowned. “When I said we’d go back to your place, I meant… you know, sleeping.”

“I’m not going to be able to sleep until you see this movie,” Steve insisted.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine. If it gets you away from the sewing machine, I will watch your silly movie.” He looked back at Steve’s sweater and shook his head. “Get your coat, blondie.”

Steve grumbled and grabbed his long coat. He pulled it over his sweater, tucked it close around him, and grabbed his cane. Bucky pulled his own coat on, then walked with him to the elevators and down to the parking lot.

The traffic was lighter at this time of night. It only took twenty minutes before they were walking in through Steve’s front door.

Step one of getting Steve into bed sometime tonight was officially complete. Bucky frowned when Steve made his way to the couch and picked up the remote. He followed slowly and sat down onto the couch after removing his shoes and coat. Steve plopped down beside him.

“You’re really going to like it, I promise,” Steve insisted. He found the movie on YouTube and pressed play.

Bucky wasn’t so sure, but if it kept Steve relaxed and happy and more likely to drift off to sleep in the comforting glow of his favorite movie, then he would watch it.

Steve shrugged out of his coat and pulled off his boots. He sank into the couch and kicked his heels up. Normally he laid down, but now… he put his feet in Bucky’s lap.

Bucky snorted. “Getting comfortable, are we?”

“Yep. And you’re in my feet’s usual spot.”

Bucky shook his head and patted Steve’s ankle. “Sorry, feet.”

Steve gazed down at Bucky’s hand touching his ankle, then he sat up. “You know what’ll complete your whole look?” he asked Bucky.

Bucky peered right back at Steve, frowning thoughtfully. “What?”

“Nail polish.”

Bucky frowned. “I thought you wanted to watch your movie?”

“I can do both.” Steve swung his feet off the couch and stood. He disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom and returned with a small zippered bag. He stopped at Bucky’s side, then lightly tapped his toes against Bucky’s leg. “Floor.”

Bucky squinted at him. But he lifted himself off the couch and lowered himself to the floor. Steve sat down beside him, slow and stiff, but he managed.

“Toes first.”

Bucky grumbled and he reached forward to push the coffee table away, giving them room to wiggle around. He pulled his socks off and was grateful that he’d bathed that morning, even if the terrible hotel shower drain had backed up and left him standing in four inches of water. He twisted on the floor and laid down, putting his feet in Steve’s lap.

“This is clearly revenge for what I did a minute ago,” Steve deadpanned.

Bucky laughed. He tucked his arm under his head and looked towards the TV. “It’s just easier, isn’t it?”

Steve nodded after a bit. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and unzipped the bag. He pulled out a couple foam wedges and started tucking them in between Bucky’s toes.

“I’m glad that even a fed like you has good hygiene,” he commented. He adjusted Bucky’s feet in his lap and he glanced up at the screen. He smiled at the opening scene, then turned his attention back to Bucky’s toes.

He drew out a bottle of fuchsia nail polish, then began to meticulously apply the color to his nails.

He took his time working on each toe, listening to the familiar movie in the background. When he finally finished both feet, including a quick dry top coat, Steve gave Bucky’s hem a little tug. “Sit up,” he requested.

Bucky groaned, but he did as he was asked, sitting up entirely and grinning at Steve. Steve blinked at him. Bucky was so close… He cleared his throat and said, “Don’t mess your toes, but now it’s time for your fingers.”

Bucky twisted carefully, lifting his feet and stretching them out in front of him. He offered Steve one of his hands.

“So what do you think of the movie?” Steve asked while looking over Bucky’s nails. He reached up to remove his glasses, setting them on the floor beside him, before returning to Bucky’s fingers.

Bucky looked at the screen. He glanced at Steve again, “It’s surprisingly good. And weird. I see why you like it.”

Steve puffed out his chest and grinned, “Knew you would.”

He reached for the bottle again. He pulled out the brush and started coating Bucky’s nails with the bright color.

Bucky tried not to think too much about how intimate this really was. It was like they were back in high school, sleeping over in one of their living rooms, watching movies until the wee hours of the morning, until it was time for Steve’s mom to go to work or for Becca to go to school.

Bucky briefly curled his fingers around Steve’s hand.

Steve blushed and bit his lip a moment, “Careful. I’m still painting.”

Bucky relaxed his fingers again. “Sorry.”

“Any other time,” he suggested gently. “Maybe. You know. I wouldn’t mind it.”

Bucky hesitated, then he glanced at Steve again. “You mean, as part of acting?”

Steve chewed on his lip. He raised his eyes to look at Bucky without tilting his head up. “Maybe not… acting,” he suggested.

He was delirious from lack of sleep, Bucky told himself. Maybe Steve was only saying this because he felt he had to, or maybe he was mistaking old feelings for something current. There was a small part of him that hoped maybe those feelings hadn’t completely faded.

Bucky went quiet. He stared up at the movie. As good as it was, his mind was elsewhere.

Steve went quiet too, lowering his eyes. He finished that hand, applied the quick dry coat, and he released it. “Other hand,” he requested.

Bucky turned towards Steve. He offered his other hand.

They were practically nose to nose when Steve lifted his head. His eyes briefly dropped down to Bucky’s mouth, then up again.

Both of them closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together. It was chaste and quick and too hard. They both pulled back at the same time. Steve was pink and that blush looked so nice on that pale skin next to those baby blue eyes. He hadn’t changed too much since they’d last seen each other.

Bucky was hyper aware that he had changed a lot. He was no longer soft. He was rough around the edges, scarred and calloused. But... he really liked kissing Steve. It was dangerous and against every fraternization rule he should obey as a federal agent. It was definitely against the rules to kiss assets.

Steve stared up at Bucky, his lips slightly parted. Neither made a move again, but Bucky gave him a smile.

Steve smiled back nervously and picked up the brush again. Instead of nails, he found himself face to face with metal fingers. He pulled the brush back and poked at one, watching the plates shift effortlessly when the knuckle bent.

“I don’t think the paint will adhere to these,” Steve joked, his voice little more than a mumble. He screwed the bottle shut, returned it to the zippered pouch, and for a long moment, stayed where he was.

Bucky wondered if he had just ruined everything with one impulsive decision. He licked his lips and then turned back to the screen.

They were both uncharacteristically quiet.

Soon, Steve shifted so he could sit next to Bucky, stretching his legs out together.

Bucky raised his arm and draped it over Steve’s shoulders. He was too bony, far too skinny to be healthy, and he felt cold even through his silly sweater. Still, Bucky was grateful to be back in his life, even for a short amount of time.

Steve stiffened at the touch, but once he’d adjusted to the weight of Bucky’s arm, he leaned into him.

The next time Bucky glanced down at Steve, his eyes were closed and his head tipped forward. He was breathing slowly and steadily. A pang of guilt stabbed into him.

He twisted towards Steve. Tucking his hands under his knees, he lifted him up off the ground. Steve’s head bobbed forward, then back again. Bucky held still, but Steve didn’t awaken.

Okay, Steve was heavier than he remembered. Maybe he had grown after all.

He took a moment to adjust the weight in his arms before heading down the hallway. The robotic arm was whirring away softly and Bucky was quietly grateful for its existence in that moment.

He nudged open the master bedroom door with his foot and brought Steve to the bed. He laid him down on top of it, then looked around for a blanket. He didn’t see one immediately, so he went to check the free-standing wardrobe. He found a couple quilts folded up on the top shelf and he dragged one out.

He returned to the bed to drape it over Steve. He made sure the blanket covered him from toes to chin.

There. He’d be fine.

He examined Steve in the dim light from one of the street lamps outside.

He looked pretty. Of course, he always looked pretty.

“Good night, Stevie,” he whispered.

He turned and tip-toed over to the door when he heard Steve’s sleepy voice behind him, “Where’re you goin’?”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Steve. Those blue eyes he’d been briefly entranced by were squinting at him from just beyond the quilt.

“I was gonna finish the movie,” Bucky explained.

“Liar,” Steve mumbled and he rolled over on his side. “The couch is fun to sit on, but sleeping on it isn’t really comfortable.”

Bucky frowned, “I’m not stealing your bed.”

“Just share it,” Steve insisted. He patted the sheets beside him.

Bucky watched Steve’s hand.

“Steve, I don’t think--”

“--I insist, Buck. It’s not gonna be anything. It doesn’t have to be.” He smiled lazily and curled his hand briefly in the comforter. “It’ll just be like sharing a bed back when we had sleep overs as kids.”

Bucky could not see a way out of it that wouldn’t hurt feelings or cause Steve to get up out of bed and follow him out to the couch.

“Let me get changed. I’ll be back,” Bucky agreed. He was definitely not going to be sleeping in these expensive-ass clothes.

He dug sweatpants and a tee out of his suitcase and headed to the bathroom. There he changed, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and examined himself in the mirror. He was breaking so many rules already.

But it was _Steve_. He was an idiot for ever thinking he could compartmentalize Steve into just an asset. Even Natasha was more a friend than an asset at this point.

He returned to the bedroom and found that Steve had also climbed out to change. He had fallen back into bed after rearranging the blankets.

Bucky wondered if he was already asleep, but Steve’s exhausted voice drifted out from under the comforter, “Don’t let me sleep too long, yeah?”

Bucky smiled crookedly and he closed the door behind him. He crossed the small room and climbed into bed. “I’ll let you sleep exactly long as you need,” he threatened. He dragged the comforter up to his chest and leaned into the pillows. They were soft and they smelled of clean detergent and shampoo.

“I’ll be real mad,” Steve warned.

Bucky could not help but laugh. He turned to lay on his back, “Sorry, Steve, but you’re about as threatening as a rabbit.”

Steve grunted, yawned, and curled up tighter around the blanket. “Yeah, yeah, you’re lucky I’m so tired.”

“Night, Stevie,” Bucky said.

“Night,” Steve mumbled back.

Bucky found himself staring up at the white ceiling of the bedroom, listening to the sound of Steve’s breathing evening out until it was a near perfect rhythm. He finally forced himself to close his eyes and think of something other than how comforting it was to be back in a bed beside Steve Rogers.

His job was, quite frankly, at stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though it wasn't ultimately included in the story, we had ideas on how Clint and Natasha had met in this timeline. We also decided that Clint was going to accidentally become front page material:
> 
>  


	5. Chapter 5

It was early when Bucky awoke. His surroundings were familiar, yet he felt a sense of deja vu. He turned his head to the side and found Steve asleep beside him. ‘Sleeping beauty’ was not the first phrase that popped into Bucky’s mind, but he looked peaceful. Steve’s hair was a tangled halo around his head, his eyelashes fanned across high cheekbones, and his pink lips were parted as he snored softly.

This was way too intimate, Bucky realized. He groaned to himself and scrubbed at his face.

He needed to shower, dress, and maybe then he’d think a bit more clearly.

He sat up slowly, trying not to wake Steve. As much as Steve would be bitching about sleeping in late, Bucky wanted him to get as much rest as possible.

He gathered his things from his suitcase and brought it with him to the bathroom. Examining the clothes in the bag, he remembered how expensive that tiger sweater was, so he left the bag in the hallway, outside the bathroom. No need to damage any of those priceless clothes.

He turned the tap, tested the water, and started the shower. The showerhead above had clearly been replaced when Steve moved in. It was a powerful, huge head with a secondary handheld showerhead. Perfect for massaging away pains and aches.

Curiosity got the better of him while he waited for the water to warm. With his toothbrush still sticking out of his mouth, he looked through each of the drawers. The first was full of Steve’s daily things. The second had the pill bottles and boxes carefully lined up. The contents were concerning. Steve might be skipping pills. Not on purpose, but…

He closed the drawer and looked in another. This one contained first aid supplies.

He didn’t know how to bring up whether or not Steve was taking his medicine. He’d just waltzed back into his life, asked a huge favor, and now they were dancing around each other, not to mention the kiss they shared. It didn’t feel like he had the room to nag.

He spit the toothpaste in the sink, rinsed his brush, and finally stripped so he could step into the shower.

It was _heaven_.

He finished before the water ran cold. He was pretty sure Steve would throw him out the window if he let him sleep in _and_ used all of the hot water.

He dried off, dressed in those nice jeans and a baby blue button-up. He looked at the sweater he was supposed to wear with the shirt and decided to forego it for now. The shower had left him pleasantly hot. He was still flushed when he padded back into the master bedroom.

Steve was still asleep, though by now he’d spread himself over the bed properly. Except for the arm tucked under his head, he resembled a starfish.

The clock on the nightstand read 8:02.

As much as he wanted Steve to sleep in, he knew he could only wait so long. He reached out and rubbed his shoulder.

Steve snorted in a sharp breath and blinked open his eyes. It took a moment before he focused on Bucky. He rubbed at his eyes, mumbling, “What time is it?”

Steve’s early morning voice was thick, slightly slurred, and rumbling. Such a small body shouldn’t be able to produce a voice that deep.

“A little after eight,” Bucky said.

“Eight!” Steve exclaimed. He looked at the clock and scooted towards the edge. Blankets tangled between his legs as he scrambled out of bed.

“Steve,” Bucky soothed, “Steve. You’ve got plenty of time, you needed to sleep--”

“It’s so late!” Steve looked around the bed to the nightstand.

“What’re you looking for--”

“Glasses!”

Bucky ran his hand through his damp hair. “Steve. Go shower. I’ll get your glasses and breakfast and then we can go.”

Steve opened his mouth in protest, but Bucky cut him off, “No. You stink. Shower. Fashion icons are not supposed to stink.”

Steve squinted at Bucky. He pulled up his shirt by the collar and sniffed it. Scrunching his nose, he shook his head. “Okay, you have a point.”

Steve grumbled as he headed to the bathroom. Bucky shook his head fondly and headed out to the living room. YouTube had continued playing and was now on some obscure, pin-up-style music video. He grabbed the remote to turn it off and the apartment fell into silence, except for the running shower and the noises from the street below.

He set the remote down on the table and found Steve’s glasses. They were on the floor, next to the zipper pouch of manicure tools. Bucky leaned down to grab both, lay them on the coffee table, and wandered over to the kitchen.

He checked the fridge finding it empty, except for some condiments. So much for making breakfast. They’d have to stop for donuts, or bagels, or something.

He checked nearby shops on his phone, then his email. The amount of unread notifications turned his stomach. Once he finished this assignment, he’d have to sit at his computer for weeks on end to put a dent in it.

The shower stopped and the door opened. “Buck,” Steve called down the hall. “Glasses?” It took a beat, but Steve added, “Please?”

Bucky smiled and tucked his phone away. He grabbed the glasses from the table, and walked up to Steve, who was sticking his damp head out in the hallway. He placed them on Steve’s face and gave him a grin.

He tried hard not to look beyond the door. Steve barely had a towel on and Bucky had already crossed a line.

But it was so tempting.

“Donuts or bagels?” he asked instead.

Steve ducked back into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack so the steam vented quicker. “Bagels,” he said after a couple moments of wiping off the mirror. He glanced back at the open door, cracked a grin, and said, “Don’t think I’m gonna let you trick me into leaving until I’m done with that coat today.”

“Drive-thru it is,” Bucky agreed. He pulled his phone out so he could pinpoint the most efficient route between Steve’s home and his studio, only to be interrupted by a text from Director Hill.

_How’s it going?_

Bucky looked at the text and responded with a _fine_.

The next text message had his heart beating a little faster.

_Just found out there’s another undercover operative. Within Hydra. He’ll reach out to you soon._

_What?_ He responded quickly, walking towards the living room instinctively. It wasn’t like Steve could hear his text messages.

_I don’t know much yet. Just wanted to give you a heads up. I’m still digging._

_Brief me when you know more._

Bucky’s hands tightened around his phone, but he forced down the feeling of helplessness. He couldn’t do anything if his director didn’t know anything either. He’d just have to start digging himself.

Behind him, the master bedroom door closed. Bucky looked over his shoulder. He had no idea where to start. Maybe Steve would.

Steve came out a couple minutes later, dressed in a clean white button up, black tie, beige sweater he’d tucked into beige slacks, and socks. He was holding Bucky’s sweater, an olive and white geometric thing with a red diamond in the middle; Bucky’s new coat, dark green and gray with red diagonal stripes that matched the sweater; and his own purple beetle boots.

Steve looked Bucky over.

“You look weird. What’s up?” he asked, handing over the sweater and coat.

Bucky frowned and pulled the sweater on over his head. He adjusted the button up sleeves accordingly.

“My boss texted me. There’s an undercover agent in Hydra,” he explained.

Steve set his boots down and straightened up. “That’s good news, right?” he asked. He helped Bucky adjust his collar. Closing the button at Bucky’s throat, he smoothed his hands over his shoulders.

Bucky tried to ignore the attention Steve was paying him. He shrugged one shoulder, “I hope so. I was going to do some research. See what I can dig up today while you’re working.”

Steve nodded again. He patted Bucky’s shoulders and once he was sure Bucky looked presentable, he stepped back. “So another guy like you?” he asked.

“Honestly,” Bucky sighed, “I have no idea.” He pulled his coat on and tugged at the lapels so it they sat evenly. “I don’t even know who it is. Neither does my boss.”

“How’d she find out then?” Steve asked. He withdrew from Bucky completely so he could pull his boots and coat on.

“She has her ways.” Maria was whip smart, had a list of contacts a mile long, and even more secrets. If she heard of an operative, then he believed her.

Steve looked around and found his cane. He picked it up, twirled it around, and turned to face Bucky again.

“You know, you might find some dirt on Hydra if you checked social media,” he offered thoughtfully. “I’m not the only disgruntled ex-employee.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head in agreement, “Not a bad thought, Rogers.”

“I have those sometimes,” Steve agreed. He headed towards the front door.

“Yeah, specifically after good night's sleep,” Bucky pointed out. He followed at Steve’s heel. “Let’s see if you come up with even better ideas after breakfast.”

* * *

After stopping somewhere for a package of bagels, dropping Steve off at his studio with most of them, and giving his hand a squeeze goodbye, Bucky went to his office.

It was quite a departure from Steve’s studio. The lobby was all dreary colors, packed with people in stuffy suits. Bucky stuck out like a sore thumb in his colorful coat and sweater. He flashed his badge to the security guard, and walked past the metal detectors to the elevators.

He found his office as messy as he’d left it.

Once he made and poured himself a cup of burnt, black coffee, he settled in with his laptop. Bucky found himself missing the energy of Steve’s studio. There were many people in the office, but the only noises were keyboards and printers. He had a ton of work to get done, but the building felt like a mausoleum. It had always been monotonous, but it never bothered him before.

Bucky forced himself to get started. The overflowing inbox was going to have to wait for another day.

Maria hadn’t given him a whole lot to go on concerning the operative at Hydra, so he followed Steve’s suggestion.

He hit up Twitter first. Steve seemed obsessed with it and maybe the other ex-Hydra employees would be too. It was easy enough to find @HausHydra and all the related hashtags.

It was an unexpected black hole. The more he read, the more concerned he became. Steve hadn’t been kidding about disgruntled employees. According to them, Haus Hydra appeared to be a downright abusive place to work. There were several threads that lead to subreddits or entire websites about everything from misconduct allegations, to claims of physical and mental abuse. The people who commented on those threads with an actual name or some identifying information were hit by a proverbial barrage of returning malicious comments.

Of course, it was the internet so malicious comments were by and large the main content, but these went beyond what he was used to. Threats ranged from termination of employment to downright rape and murder.

And these weren’t taken seriously?

“What the actual fuck,” Bucky breathed while reading one over. The knot in his stomach only tightened when he saw that the next response was from Steve. _Fucking_. _Steve_.

Steve who was brave and stupid and who blurred all of Bucky’s lines. He saw red once he noticed that someone else had responded to Steve. A different anonymous user (though, if Bucky stopped to think about it, he couldn’t be certain it wasn’t the same person under a different account) threatened Steve.

 _And Steve responded_!

 _You piece of shit coward can kiss my bony ass._ With a winking, kissy face emoji.

When Bucky returned to Steve’s Twitter, he went immediately to his replies section. He scrolled down. It seemed like a pretty even split between adoring fans, conversations with colleagues, and responses to death threats. It turned out that ‘kiss my bony ass’ was a fairly tame response for Steve.

_I’d fight you any time, any place._

_Wouldn’t be the first racist I punched in the mouth._

_If you already know where my publicly listed studio is, why don’t you come for a visit?_

Steve poked the bear, then invited him over to his place of work with the implicit threat that he would kick said bear’s ass.

Bucky pushed back from the desk, and closed the laptop. He boiled with anger and continuing to read wasn’t going to help with any of that.

Bracing his hands on the edge of the desk, he flexed his fingers. He took a couple calming breaths and lifted his head to glance at the clock on the wall. 12:40. He’d been at work for a good several hours.

He grabbed the phone he’d left charging on the far side of his desk and found he’d missed a couple text messages.

One was from Maria:

_Will be in New York tomorrow. Getting more information about Hydra operative. Will let you know more then._

One was from Steve: _Lunch?_

He wasn’t sure which one he was more surprised by.

He responded to Maria:

_Something big going down?_

He was struck by the sudden thought that maybe he was being pushed out of his own investigation. He hadn’t made any progress in the past couple of months and maybe this was just Maria’s way of letting him down gently--

 _Rein in your brain, Barnes,_ he thought to himself. If he let his mind go too far down that line…

He shook his head.

Maria wasn’t likely to respond. Her last text had been sent more than an hour ago. Whatever she was doing, she deep in it. Hell, she was probably already on a plane.

He opened up Steve’s text to respond:

_Sure. I’ll come pick you up._

The response was immediate:

_Great. There’s a place that does giant burritos. I’m starving._

That was comforting at least. If Steve was going to die because he goaded some troll into visiting him at work, he would at least die with a full stomach.

He was going to have to talk to Steve.

He sent one last response before gathering his things and marching out the door.

_On my way._

* * *

Steve’s fabled burrito place was a hole in the wall near the Marvel office. If Bucky understood anything about shitty looking restaurants, it promised deliciousness. It was also packed to the gills. So much for hoping they’d make it just as the lunch rush would be letting out.

“This better be worth it,” Bucky told Steve when they got into line. They weren’t outside the building (thankfully), but another couple of people and they’d be stuck waiting out on the sidewalk.

“It’s fast,” Steve promised. He looked up at Bucky, asking, “You’re crankier than usual. What’s up?”

Bucky decided immediately that he needed food in his stomach before he could address what was making him so mad. “I’m not normally cranky,” he insisted.

Steve rolled his eyes and patted Bucky’s arm, “Buck, you grew up and became a fed. Being cranky is part of your genetic make-up.” His hand lingered on Bucky’s arm, then slid down to his hand. He took it with a squeeze.

Bucky thought about the plethora of threats leveled against Steve. His heart ached at the thought of any of those trolls making good on their promises. He’d have to do something to make sure nothing happened to him. Or at the very least, that Steve could defend himself if someone came for him.

“I’d much rather talk about what you managed to get done this morning,” he said.

Steve looked up at him with a grin. “If I didn’t know better, it seems that you actually find this stuff interesting.”

“I’ve always liked making things with my hands,” Bucky defended, poking Steve in the arm with his free hand.

“Maybe you could make something with my help next time,” Steve suggested. He turned his attention to the line when another customer shuffled past, then back to Bucky. “The coat should be done by this afternoon, then once I check on everything else… I think we’ll be ready. Tomorrow I’ll have to get up early to supervise transporting everything to the venue and setting up shop there, but it’ll be done.”

Bucky could not wait until it was over. Maybe the unending line of tension in Steve’s shoulders would finally slack. Maybe he would actually sleep in his own bed without objection.

But once it was over, that would put an end to their asset/agent relationship. And depending on where his investigation went, and what happened with the other operative, anything could happen. If it was successful, he’d go on to the next assignment and probably home to D.C. If it was a failure, he’d probably lose the investigation to the guy that was hiding out inside Haus Hydra.

“Earth to Bucky,” Steve called to him, tugging at his hand again. “It’s time to order.”

Bucky ordered his meal, watched the workers behind the counter prepare it. When they got to the register, he pulled out his wallet.

Steve protested, but Bucky held up a hand, “You’ve already spent so much money on me.”

“I haven’t though,” Steve insisted, “I didn’t buy any of those clothes. And you keep buying me food.”

“If I don’t buy you food, you won’t eat.” Bucky handed over his credit card to pay for the meals and drinks, then picked up the tray of wrapped food. He marveled for a long moment. The burritos looked smaller when they were behind the counter, but when Steve had said large… he hadn’t been kidding.

“Holy shit,” he commented as he followed Steve to the back of the restaurant. Steve filled their drinks, balancing his cane on the crook of his arm, then led Bucky to the back. Someone was filing out and they managed to snag the table once they were gone. “I didn’t think a guy as skinny as you could put away a burrito the size of a soda bottle.”

Steve smirked, “It works out well if I’m planning on skipping dinner.”

Bucky was going to have to deal with that problem later. He handed Steve the foil-wrapped burrito and took his own. He’d been more angry than hungry when he’d picked Steve up, but now that he was looking at the food, he was definitely hungry.

Steve tipped his head to the side in concern. He unwrapped the top couple inches of burrito while considering his next words carefully.

“You’re lost inside your own head today,” Steve pointed out, “More than usual. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Bucky hadn’t said he was okay before, just dodged the question. He fiddled with the foil and opened his too. “I’m worried,” he started. He knew he couldn’t just talk about his assignment out loud like this, but if he didn’t give Steve something, he was sure he’d never hear the end of it.

They were both remarkably good at nagging each other.

“Nothing has panned out and now that I know about the other guy…” Bucky shook his head, “My boss is coming into town tomorrow. She’s going to take this case away from me.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “She said that?”

Bucky paused and looked at Steve, his brow furrowing. “...I mean, she didn’t say it, but that has to be the only reason she’s coming up here.”

“You’ve always done this,” Steve leaned forward a bit, “Talked yourself into freaking out. There might be nothing wrong. She could be coming down because she thinks this other guy is a problem.” He smirked at Bucky and took a bite of his burrito. Talking through a full mouth, he continued, “I could get her a pass to Fashion Week. Would require another favor, but--”

Bucky shook his head, exhaling on a laugh. “Maria at Fashion Week. If I stick out like a sore thumb, she’d be about five times worse.”

“I’m serious.” Steve took another bite. “At least about there being nothing wrong. Maybe it’s completely unrelated to this nonsense.” He gestured between the two of them.

“I’m glad I’m included in our collective nonsense.” Bucky took a bite of his burrito. It was exactly what he needed. “I also found some disturbing stuff while doing research today…”

“Disturbing how?”

Bucky pointed at Steve, “You are a fucking idiot.”

Steve pouted stubbornly, “I have done nothing today to be accused of that.”

“It’s not _today_. It’s your entire history of being on the internet.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re getting into fights no matter where you are. And then you invite people who threatened you to come to your workplace.”

“Oh, please,” Steve scoffed. “Those anime avatar assholes are all bots. If they’re not bots, they’re fucking cowards anyway. They couldn’t handle a real fight.”

“ _You_ can’t handle a real fight, Rogers!” Bucky had to set his food down so he could scrub a hand down his face. “You weigh like 90 pounds soaking wet and you punched a guy, busted up your hand--”

“--I just got bloody knuckles--”

“--That’s not the point!” Bucky realized a couple tables around them were staring. He could feel their judging eyes burning into him. He took a slow and steady breath and continued, in a much softer voice, “What if one of them decided to take it into their own hands? You’re not a nobody and now that you’re on a much bigger stage, picking fights with very powerful and very dangerous entities…”

Bucky thought about the threats he’d read. Most of them weren’t specific, but some of them were very, very specific. Threats of slitting his throat, leaving him for dead on the side of a road, beating him to death… He shook his head at Steve. “I worry that one of those assholes is going to bring a gun to your workplace. It happens, Steve. Don’t tell me it doesn’t.”

Steve leaned forward, a big frown on his face. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was ready to fight or just aiming to take another bite of the burrito that was bigger than his arms were thick. Steve made a couple grumbling noises that amounted to, “Yeah, yeah, maybe you’re right,” before shoving another bite into his mouth.

The knot in his stomach didn’t completely disappear, but he could at least relax a little. “So you’re gonna do a couple things for me,” he told Steve.

Steve looked up at him, burrito in his mouth, and raised an eyebrow.

Bucky took that as permission to continue, regardless of whether or not it had been meant that way. “You’re gonna stop responding to threats.” He held up one finger. “You’re gonna document every single instance from now on.” He held up a second finger. “And finally, I’m gonna teach you some basic self-defense tonight. Just in case one of those trolls decides to snap.”

Steve groaned audibly, but when he’d finished the bite in his mouth, he nodded in agreement. “Fine,” he muttered, “Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll do all that.”

Bucky smiled brightly. “Good. Great. Yeah.” He dug into his food. As long as Steve kept up his promise, Bucky was fine with all of this.

* * *

Steve didn’t like kowtowing to internet trolls, but based on the way Bucky reacted… he decided it was best to agree.

He also felt guilty about what was going to happen as soon as they left the restaurant. Better to agree now and build up some goodwill than to let Bucky leave, absolutely pissed, and have some debacle happen outside. Peggy’s photographers were waiting just outside the restaurant for them. The magazine would be out tomorrow for purchase and then… well, Bucky’s cover would be officially established. He’d have to be happy about that, right?

He finished his burrito and balled the foil. While Bucky still worked at his food, he started smoothing the wrinkles with his thumbnails.

Bucky looked up, watching his hands fidget, then he shoved the last bite in his mouth.

Steve smiled apologetically, “You don’t have to rush. I always need something to do with my hands. I’m not bored.” He held up the ball. “These look really cool if you can get them completely smooth.”

“With your hands?” Bucky asked into his hand, covering his mouth while there was food still in it. What perfect manners.

“I can get it a good part of the way, but it’s not really cool until you apply a sander to it.” Steve smiled a bit, “I made a whole outfit out of these for an art show last year. Tony Stark bought it for his house. I think he thought it was funny.”

Bucky swallowed that last bite and picked up his soda. He took a drink and another until it was empty. “I met him a couple times. He was there for a couple of my assessments.” He flexed his metal hand.

Steve nodded and smiled brightly. “He’s a great dude. Real fun at parties.”

Bucky snorted and shook his head. “Man, I thought I had a great celebrity story. I met Tony Stark a couple times. You party with him.”

Steve stood and piled their trash on the plastic tray. “Maybe you can come with me as my plus one next time?” he offered. “You’ll see him at Fashion Week. I think he reserved front row seats for him and Pepper at my show.”

Bucky stood and let Steve walk past. He laid a gentle hand on the small of his back, guiding him.

Steve dumped the trash in the bin, stacked the tray with the others, and lead Bucky out the exit. The door had barely swung shut behind them before cameras were shoved in their faces.

The photographers jockeyed for a front cover photo, but all of them would be valuable for whatever story had been written.

“Stevie!” one of them called out, “Introduce us to your boyfriend!”

So she’d gone with that angle. Fine with him. Something so insubstantial to the actual industry would be insult and injury to Zola. Bumped off front page status because Steve got himself a boyfriend.

Bucky scowled at the photographers. He draped his arm protectively around Steve’s shoulders and guided him down the street towards the parking lot.

The herd of photographers popped up from nowhere like meerkats. They were very good at their job. They were going to get that damn photo.

Steve smiled sweetly, nodding his head at a couple who shouted greetings. He liked when they were polite. Bucky didn’t get the memo about being polite, though. Steve saw movement out of the corner of his eye and when he turned his head to look, Bucky had raised his hand to flip off the cameras.

At least his nail polish looked good.

Steve’s smile turned apologetic. At least his new boyfriend being protective as hell made for a more interesting story. He leaned into Bucky, enjoying the weight of his hand on his shoulder. He’d let him have his moment. He clearly enjoyed it.

It felt like the walk to the car took forever. Bucky had taken the opportunity to slam the parking garage door behind them. Of course, the photographers could just open it again, but Steve hoped that Bucky felt better having done it.

Steve nudged Bucky fondly and teased, “There’s your first taste of fame. What do you think?”

Bucky shook his head and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Does that happen often? I literally just wanted to get back to the car.”

The door opened behind them and Bucky curled his hand around Steve’s shoulder again. He rushed them to the town car, opened the door for him, and waited for Steve to get inside. Of course, Steve couldn’t hurry quite like Bucky wanted. He settled into the seat stiffly, Bucky closed the door, and then Bucky turned to face the photographers.

Steve held his breath. Please, Bucky, don’t punch someone, no matter how much Peggy would delight over the scandal.

Bucky took a deep breath, his shoulders rising, then slumping. He stalked around the front of the car and climbed inside. He slammed the door behind him and the car rocked.

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Bucky started the car. The photographers weren’t moving. Bucky leaned on the horn and they scattered.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he growled. He revved the engine, threw the car into drive, and took off.

Steve was silent until they reached the street. They sat at a red light and Bucky hunched over the steering wheel, scowling. Finally, Steve started laughing.

“Thank you for not punching anyone,” he gasped out between fits.

Bucky shook his head and growled, “Shut up, I wasn’t gonna punch anyone.”

“That one guy right in front of you probably pissed himself, thinking you were gonna!”

Bucky shook his head again. “At least if I punched them,” he teased Steve, “I wouldn’t fuck up my hand.”

Steve scowled. “Gonna punch you if you make fun of me for getting bloodied knuckles on a Nazi’s face again.”

Bucky looked ahead at the road once the light turned green. “Gonna have to teach you how to punch Nazis properly in time for Fashion Week.” He reached down to turn on the radio, leaving it on a pop station for the drive back to the warehouse.

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, it looked like Bucky wasted time on Facebook and Twitter and Reddit. Based on the way his shoulders hunched while he scrolled through his phone, his research was continuing to upset him.

Steve only saw it in bits and pieces. All of his attention was focused on finishing the coat. He had a couple sketches taped to the wall directly behind him, of different ways of styling the coat. It was going to be incredible, however it turned out.

Hours passed in the blink of an eye. Steve stood before the mannequin. He tapped his finger to his chin and tipped his head to the side.

Was it done?

It looked done.

“Sammy!” he called. He looked around the warehouse and wondered where the time had gone. It was quiet. The only inhabitants were Steve, Bucky, and the army of mannequins that stood vigil between all the workstations.

Bucky lowered his phone and watched Steve spin. “He went home like an hour and a half ago,” he told Steve.

Steve groaned and rubbed at his face, pushing his glasses into his messy hair. “I wanted to see it on him.” He guessed he would have to wait until tomorrow morning, before they packed up. He groped around for his phone and found it on the table. He sent Sam a text to tell him what time to meet tomorrow and included a photo of the coat on the mannequin.

Finally, he looked back at Bucky.

“You didn’t bother me about dinner,” he pointed out.

Bucky smiled a little bit more. “You said you were skipping dinner,” he reminded Steve, then stood and pocketed his phone. “And you looked like you really needed to keep working. A man on a mission.”

He offered Steve his hand. Steve took it.

“Can we get donuts on the way home?” He asked Bucky.

Bucky snorted and teased, “You act like I don’t also want late night donuts instead of dinner.” He tugged Steve towards where he’d hung their coats. Gathering them up, and he turned to Steve, offering the coat. Steve took it and shrugged into it.

“Definitely going to need more donuts for tomorrow morning too. It’s gonna be a long day.” Steve reached for Bucky’s arm. He curled his fingers into the crook and leaned his head on his shoulder. It lasted just a moment before Steve pulled back. They’d fallen back into old patterns. He enjoyed it too much and Bucky seemed to, as well. When he inevitably returned to D.C… Steve didn’t want to think about it.

“You know a good place for donuts?” Bucky asked, nudging Steve gently. “I want an apple fritter.”

“We’re in New York. Throw a rock and you’ll find great food,” Steve teased. He tugged Bucky along after him.

Once they were in the car, they took their time deciding which donut shop they would stop in along the route home. Steve dismissed two of them, Bucky dismissed another, and they finally settled on one that also included fancy and very caffeinated drinks. Steve held the box on his lap and sipped at his overly sweet drink. When they arrived at Steve’s apartment and parked, Bucky took the box from him.

“Ever the gentleman,” Steve teased and scooted out of the car. He grabbed Bucky’s drink before he could, bumping the car door shut with his hip. Humming his way through the foyer, and into the elevators, once they arrived at the door, he had to hand off one of the drinks to Bucky so he could fish his keys out of his pocket.

He unlocked the door and walked in. Bucky followed and closed it with his heel. He set his drink and the box down on the coffee table before locking up. He stripped out of his coat and stepped out of his shoes, then reached out for Steve’s. He draped them both over the couch.

Steve sank onto the couch and pulled his boots off. He groaned and stretched his legs, wiggling his toes.

“Bet it feels good,” Bucky commented. He sank onto the couch beside Steve and patted his boney knee. He took another drink. “Poor thing. Spent all day on your feet.”

“The only thing that can remedy pain like this is donuts.”

Bucky could take a hint. He leaned forward to pick up the box and Steve’s drink. He put the box on his own lap and handed over the drink. Opening it up, he looked at the dozen before him. It was a lot, but they would also be breakfast.

“What do you want?” he asked Steve.

“Bear claw,” he requested. Steve held out his hand and Bucky placed one of the oversized donuts into it. Steve took a large bite of his donut and gestured to Bucky, “Find somethin’ on TV.”

Bucky snorted and nodded, “Yes sir, your highness.” He leaned forward to grab the remote, trying to keep his belly from touching the box as much as possible. He sat back and turned it on, flipping through channels until he found something on the Food Network. He set the remote aside in favor of finally picking up a donut for himself.

“You been keeping up with Chopped?” Bucky asked Steve.

“I barely have time for my own personal projects, let alone TV,” Steve answered around his snack. He licked some of the oozing cream from the donut before it could get on his fingers.

“What kind of personal projects?” Bucky looked at Steve and took a bite of his donut. It was still perfectly warm and soft, the sugar melting on his tongue.

Steve hummed. He raised his donut and took another bite.

“You’ll show me after,” Bucky translated. He nodded in agreement. “Yep. No problem. Don’t want to get sticky fingers on your art.”

A couple minutes later, Steve had finished savoring his bear claw. He suckled at his fingers and pushed himself to stand. He went to the kitchen sink, ran the water, and washed his hands quickly. “Need to wash your hands before going into the secret room,” he called back to Bucky.

Bucky had been thinking about going for a second donut. Instead he set the box on the coffee table. “I’ll be back for you,” he promised the box before following Steve to the kitchen. He washed his hands in the sink.

Steve held out a dish towel for Bucky to dry his hands, then hung the towel back over the oven handle. He took Bucky’s hand and lead him down the hall to the only other room Bucky hadn’t seen yet.

He pushed open the door and turned on the light switch.

Bucky’s eyes landed on the dress form in the center of the room. His mouth fell open. It was clothed in a floor-trailing gown, made of red, orange, yellow, and purple silks. The collar of the dress curled upwards, looking like licks of flame around the wearer’s head.

Steve grinned and stepped into the room. He gestured to the dress. Around him, the rest of the room was sparsely furnished. There was a desk with two machines pushed up against the large windows, a rolling chair tucked underneath it.

It wasn’t much of a studio, but Steve liked having a small space to work all by himself.

“It reminds me of where I started. Working out of a shoebox,” Steve described. He motioned Bucky closer, “Come look at it. What do you think?”

Bucky crept closer and held his breath, like even an exhale could destroy the work of art before him. “It looks like fire,” he told Steve while walking around the gown. He picked his way carefully around the cutting mats on the floor.

Steve puffed out his chest, “That’s what I was going for.”

“I really like it,” Bucky said when he stopped in front of the gown, beside Steve. “You’re an incredible artist. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown since we last spoke.”

Steve lingered at Bucky’s side, then slid his hand into Bucky’s. He gave it a squeeze. Finally, he said, “I don’t want to lose touch again.” It was a cowardly way of asking him to stay in his life. _Please._

Bucky looked at Steve again. He slowly squeezed Steve’s hand in return. “I don’t either,” he agreed. He smiled and he gave that hand a tug. “Come on. I’m gonna show you what you need to stay alive, since you can’t keep your mouth shut. I need you around for a good long time.”

“Wait,” Steve followed after Bucky. He flipped the light off and closed the door behind them. “Let me change.” His clothes weren’t meant for learning self-defense.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve, “Are you planning on wearing workout clothes every day of your life?”

Steve paused. He pouted. “...No, I guess not.”

“Then you’re gonna learn how to fight in the clothes you wear regularly.” Bucky lead them back to the living room. He released Steve’s hand so he could pick up the coffee table and piled everything, donuts and drinks included, onto the kitchen counter. Then he moved the coffee table out of the way, giving them the largest floor space possible.

Steve stood off to the side, staying out of Bucky’s way.

“You’re really serious about this.” He looked up at Bucky, studying his face.

Bucky nodded and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it from his face. He stepped to the middle of the room and gestured Steve forward. “C’mere, Blondie.”

Steve frowned. “Okay?” he asked, then hesitated. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just come here, yeah?” Bucky gestured again, holding out his hand invitingly.

Steve squinted at the offering, then stepped towards Bucky, reaching out. Bucky grabbed hold of it in a firm grip then guided Steve into a twirling step before wrapping his arm around Steve’s throat. All in the blink of an eye.

“Hey! What--” Steve raised his hands, grabbing at Bucky’s arm and trying to pull it down from under his chin.

“How would you get out of this?” Bucky asked. It wasn’t difficult to keep his arm around Steve’s neck. Those long artists’ fingers scrambled at his sleeve, but he wasn’t able to pry it away.

Steve growled and lifted his feet off the ground, trying to use his weight to pull free. It only served to strangle him. He groaned and lowered his feet back down. He wiggled his chin and then opened his mouth. He set his teeth against Bucky’s arm, but couldn’t exactly sink his teeth into metal.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky laughed. He loosened his arm.

Steve growled again, holding Bucky’s arm to his mouth. He couldn’t stop a little laugh that escaped around Bucky’s arm.

“You’re just ruining Natasha’s clothes,” Bucky scolded, but he was grinning, “Growling like a puppy. Really?”

Steve puffed out a breath against Bucky’s arm, then pulled back. He looked back at Bucky, “So I’m supposed to bite?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, bite. You could also stomp their foot or kick up towards their junk.”

“What if it’s a girl?” Steve asked.

“Then the crotch shot probably won’t work as well. But the other things are still good,” Bucky said as he slipped his arm from around Steve. He turned him around and put his hands on his throat. It was, again, a very light touch. He didn’t want to risk his metal arm pinching skin when he closed his fingers too tight.

Steve laughed, tossing his head back. “It feels like I just said ‘choke me, daddy,’” he teased.

Bucky turned pink. “Just try and get out of it, ass.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s wrists and tipped his chin down. He wasn’t able to bite at the thumbs that pressed in on either side of his throat. He tried pulling at the arms. They didn’t budge. He huffed out a frustrated breath, “Your robot arm is cheating.”

“No, it’s not. You just suck at this,” Bucky teased. He gave him another grin. “Grab my thumbs,” he ordered, “and yank them back.”

Steve dug his fingers around the flesh thumb and yanked it backwards. Even just playing, Bucky’s hand peeled away from Steve’s neck with a little grunt.

“Good!” Bucky insisted, his voice growling. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. “Keep yanking the thumb. It’s fucking painful.”

Steve used the thumb to guide Bucky to his knees, twisting his arm this way and that. Bucky followed the guidance, gritting his teeth. Steve wasn’t weak, but it didn’t take much to hurt fingers.

From his knees, Bucky shook Steve’s hand off, grateful that Steve was clearly playing. He’d been more afraid of the bite. He grinned up at him. “Good. Just remember all these weaknesses.”

He pushed himself back up, finding himself looking at a pouting Steve.

“What?” Bucky asked, frowning thoughtfully.

Steve’s pout turned into a sly grin. He was never good at keeping a poker face. “I liked you on your knees.”

A blush blossomed over Bucky’s cheeks. He had to remind himself that it is not ethical to act on an attraction to an asset. But this was Steve. Steve had always been more than an asset. Bucky was an idiot to think he could continue to keep that compartmentalized. And they’d already acted once... But, he needed to try or risk his job.

Steve grinned at Bucky and patted his chest. “I think I might’ve short circuited your brain. Sorry.”

“You’re going to have to work harder than that to short circuit my brain,” Bucky insisted. He reached for Steve once more, curling his fingers into the collar of his shirt. “One more. How do you deal with this?”

Steve glanced at the fist nudging up against his cheek. He couldn’t see the thumb. He tried to step back and Bucky easily yanked him in close. Steve staggered forward and ran into Bucky’s chest. There, he grumbled and pushed back from Bucky.

“What weak points does my arm have?” Bucky prompted. He let Steve step back to the length of his arm.

“Thumb,” Steve repeated automatically.

“And?” Bucky raised his eyebrows.

Steve reached up and curled his fingers at the crook of Bucky’s arm. “Elbow?”

Bucky grinned, “Good. Now what do you think you need to do?”

Steve yanked down on Bucky’s elbow. Bucky was forced to stagger a step forward.

“Good, now turn into me,” Bucky prompted. He did his best to hold the awkward, off-balanced position.

Steve realized he could only turn one way. He twisted around so that Bucky’s arm was wrapped around him and Steve had his back braced against Bucky’s chest.

“Now yank!” Bucky ordered.

Startled by the snap in Bucky’s voice, Steve yanked. He bent over, hauling Bucky up and over his shoulder.

Bucky hadn’t expected to actually be thrown. He flew off his feet, over Steve’s shoulder, and slammed backside down onto the hardwood floor. On his way, he grabbed Steve’s shirt and yanked him right on top of him. The downstairs neighbor was, no doubt, going to be pissed at all the commotion.

“Fuck!” Steve gasped, pushing up on Bucky’s chest so he could look down. His eyes were wide, eyebrows raised, and his glasses had been knocked askew in the fall. “Fuck! Fuck! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Bucky blinked up at Steve and then let out a laugh that was more of a dreamy sigh than an actual chuckle. “You did _amazing_ , Stevie,” he promised. He raised his hand and patted the closest part of Steve. What he touched was Steve’s hip. He left his hand there.

Steve’s panic subsided when Bucky complimented him. He exhaled slowly and pushed his crooked glasses back into place. He was rumpled--his clothes were wrinkled and his hair was mussed.

Bucky’s hand trailed from Steve’s hip to smooth back through his soft hair. He curled his fingers around the back of Steve’s neck and tipped his eyes up to meet Steve’s.

He didn’t hesitate any further. He drew Steve’s head down and brought their lips together.


	6. Chapter 6

It was early when Bucky woke up. It was still dark outside. The streetlamps cast their golden glow into the room, and Bucky thought it was appropriate. The room was literally glowing while he was still feeling the afterglow.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked down at Steve. He was tucked in against his front, one arm folded between them and the other wrapped around Bucky’s waist. He nosed into Bucky’s chest when he moved and immediately Bucky felt a stab of guilt.

Steve nuzzled in closer, blinked open his eyes, and looked up at Bucky. A sleepy smile spread across his face. Crawling further up the bed and disentangling their legs, Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s mouth. Bucky slid his arms back around Steve and squeezed them together.

“G’morning,” Steve mumbled. He pressed several more lazy kisses to his lips before tucking his head in against his shoulder.

“Morning,” Bucky responded. He rubbed his flesh hand up and down Steve’s back, reveling in his sleep-warm body. He glanced towards the nightstand to check the clock. Almost 6am. “What time do you need to be at the studio?”

“I told Sammy to meet me there at 8,” Steve answered, voice muffled by Bucky’s shoulder.

They had time.

“Want to shower?” Bucky asked. He didn’t want to move, but they both needed to shower sooner, rather than later.

Steve groaned in protest and tightened his arm around Bucky.

“Together?”

The groaning stopped. Steve considered this offer, then looked up again at Bucky. “I accept your offer.”

Bucky laughed and stole one more kiss before pushing aside the blankets. He nudged Steve to get up and when he did, he lingered in the bed. His eyes roamed up and down Steve’s naked body.

Steve noticed. He looked at Bucky and grinned. He cocked his hip to the side and put his hand on it. “You see somethin’ you like?”

“Mm-hm.” Bucky pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed. He stood and slid his hands up Steve’s thighs to his hips. He pulled him close and kissed him once more.

Steve lifted his hands to Bucky’s bare chest, letting his fingers explore the muscles and scars there. After several long moments of kissing and groping, Bucky finally broke the kiss. He grinned at Steve and teased, “This isn’t the shower.”

“Can we continue in the shower?” Steve dragged blunted nails down Bucky’s chest. Bucky shivered and nodded.

Steve took both of Bucky’s hands in his. He guided him to the bathroom, started the shower, and stepped in. Bucky soon followed.

He’d had more productive showers before, but when it was done, he could honestly say he’d never been more relaxed. Bucky wrapped a towel around his waist and gave Steve a kiss on the ear.

Steve examined his pink skin in the mirror, then he grinned at Bucky’s reflection. “So, last night…” he said while raking his fingers through his hair, bringing it to some sort of order, “I want that to happen again.”

“Me too, Doll,” Bucky nodded eagerly.

Steve’s smile faded. “Does that mean you’ll be staying?” His expression wasn’t sad, but carefully controlled.

“We’ll see,” Bucky added. He smiled brighter at Steve, resting his hand on the small of his back, “A long distance relationship isn’t the worst thing in the world, right? D.C. isn’t far from here.”

Steve smiled again. “Yeah, but I’ve liked having you here with me again.” He reached for a bottle of lotion, applying it to his face.

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple and removed his towel so he could properly dry his hair. He stepped out of the bathroom, leaving Steve to finish primping.

In the bedroom, he found his phone in his discarded pants. He fished it out to find a text message from Maria:

_Will be in the office at 9am. Meet me for a debrief. Donuts are on me._

That simple text brought his fantasy world crashing down around him. Bucky stood in the middle of Steve’s bedroom, staring at his phone. From the bathroom, Steve started humming.

They wanted to keep doing this, but Steve was an asset.

Bucky could only think of one way to solve this.

He responded with a confirmation to Maria’s text. Tossing the phone onto the bed for later, he gathered his clothes for the day. He dressed in the red pants, and black and white button up before heading back to the bathroom so he could put his hair in some kind of order.

Steve looked up at Bucky and frowned.

Bucky stared back, then down at himself. “What? What’s wrong?”

“We’re moving things today. I don’t think you’d want to wear nice things,” Steve reminded him.

Oh, right. Today was the day everything got packed up and moved to the actual venue.

“I gotta meet Maria at 9. Can you hold out without me until after that?” Bucky asked him.

Steve grinned, “As long as you still drop me off at the studio, we’ll be fine.” He flexed his arm at Bucky, “See these muscles? They can punch Nazis, and lift up garment bags.”

Bucky reached down to squeeze Steve’s arm. He nodded sagely, “Yes, yes, I see. So strong, so capable.”

Steve snorted. He reached back to touch Bucky’s cheek. “Bathroom’s yours,” he told him. “You pretty yourself up for your boss.”

Steve swayed out of the bathroom, leaving Bucky staring at himself in the mirror. He wondered if Maria would even recognize him in these clothes.

Bucky brushed his teeth, then his hair, and by the time he was done, Steve was dressed. He peeked into the bathroom and asked, “Do you want me to nuke a donut for you too?”

After a momentary hesitation, Bucky shook his head. “No thanks. I’m not feeling really hungry at the moment.”

Steve disappeared and Bucky leaned out to eye him and his outfit. Steve looked remarkably casual today, with jeans and a black and white striped top. It was fucking _cute_ , though Steve would probably gag at the descriptor.

The microwave hummed to life and Bucky took the short amount of time he had left to finish any last-minute preparations. He met Steve in the living room, helped him into his coat, and led him out of the apartment.

* * *

Bucky entered the monolithic building, rode the elevators up to his floor, and walked back to his office. It was still a mess and still empty. Maria hadn’t arrived yet. A mixed blessing, he decided.

He walked around the desk and sat down heavily in the chair. He had time to consider his next words carefully, which also meant he had time to obsess over them. He looked at the clock. Maria was due at 9 and it was barely 8:30. Half hour to kill. Time for terrible coffee.

He took his time. He made a new pot of coffee, poured himself a serving, mixed in the appropriate amount of sugar and cream. And it still only took a couple minutes. He sighed and went back to his office.

Arriving, he found that t was no longer empty. A woman with dark hair and a black suit had made herself at home in his chair. She grinned up at him and greeted, “Agent Barnes.”

“Director Hill,” Bucky greeted right back.

Maria stood and held her hand out to him. Bucky firmly shook it. She had a crushing grip and Bucky was grateful they were on good terms. He didn’t need another metal arm.

She released his hand, then pointedly looked him up and down, tapping her chin. “You certainly look the part of fashionista boytoy.”

Bucky pouted. “I’m not a boytoy.”

“Oh, well… this magazine I found seems to indicate otherwise,” she teased. She drew a magazine out of her backpack and held it out to Bucky. Taking it, his eyes widened.

The cover pictured him and Steve from yesterday. He was flipping off the camera and Steve was smiling, the very picture of serenity. The headline posed the questions: “Who is his mystery hunk? And why is he so grumpy? Can he be trusted with the heart of NYC’s hottest designer?”

Maria kept talking. “And I don’t normally buy these magazines. But how could I resist when I knew someone on the cover?”

When he finally tore his eyes away from the cover, Bucky eyed Maria. She had the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. Bucky had never seen such unabashed glee in her eyes.

“I’m impressed, Bucky,” she said, and Bucky believed her. She continued, “You’ve really embraced your role. I thought you were overselling your ability, but it’s incredible.”

“I did publicity during my tour…” That was beside the point. Bucky shook his head and raised his hand to push his hair back. It was a mess. He’d been fiddling with it on the drive over. His anxiety was going to make him go bald.

“I discovered more about the other operative. He’s part of Customs, believe it or not,” Maria reached into her bags for more papers. “Apparently Hydra is under investigation for sending weapons to certain dangerous parties. The operative will be contacting you soon.”

It was now or never.

“Maria, I quit,” Bucky said with finality, slapping the magazine on the desk.

Maria stopped shuffling through her papers. She looked up at Bucky, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” she asked, “I think I misheard you?”

“I quit,” Bucky repeated. It wasn’t easier the second time.

Maria stared at him. She opened and closed her mouth a couple times, but only managed to say, “Why?”

Bucky chewed on his lower lip before he answered, “I fraternized with an asset.”

Maria straightened up and narrowed her eyes at Bucky. “...Okay?” There was suspicion in her voice. “You were playing his boyfriend. Of course there would be some level of fraternization.”

“I slept with him,” Bucky bit out reluctantly. It felt way too personal. Kissing and telling on a whole new level. But he needed to be honest with Maria about his motivations.

Maria sighed heavily and rubbed the heel of her palm over her eye. “Okay, Barnes. It happens. If you just don’t do it again--”

“I will do it again. I want to do it again,” he interrupted,

“There is no way his dick is that good that you’ve decided to quit an excellent career, Barnes!” Maria snapped, slamming her hand down on the desk.

Bucky straightened up at the snap. He rarely had that tone of voice directed at him and he knew he deserved it this time, but it didn’t do anything to dissuade him from his choice.

“I’m sorry, Maria.” He had no idea how to explain himself without sounding like the lovesick fool he was. “I… Steve is and has always been number one.” He pulled his wallet out so he could hand over his badge. Maria stared blankly at the polished piece of metal. She didn’t take it, so he set it on the desk. He lifted his bag and put it on the desk as well, on top of the badge. “This is everything I have on the case, my gun, my laptop, my work phone. I’m done.”

“I don’t understand,” Maria’s voice softened. “Bucky, just… let’s sit down. Talk about this. I don’t want to lose a good agent over a minor indiscretion.”

Bucky took a step back, towards the door. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t give her another chance to talk. He turned and headed out the door. Somewhere behind him, he heard her mutter, “Goddamn it.”

* * *

On the way to the studio, Bucky had to turn off his phone and toss it in the glove compartment. It was ringing off the hook. He knew who it was and he really wasn’t in the mood to continue their conversation, especially when he’d already made up his mind.

He finally arrived at the warehouse and parked in the lot, just in time to watch Steve negotiating a wheeled rack out of the double front doors. It caught on the doorframe and Steve lurched backwards, trying to force it over.

Bucky climbed out of the car and trotted up to Steve.

“Careful, blondie,” he teased.

Steve jumped, abruptly stopping the rack. He turned around. Scrunching his nose at Bucky, he insisted, “I got it.” Steve was evidently working hard. He’d rolled up his sleeves and his hair was a mess. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Guilt stabbed at Bucky. Yeah, he had to talk to Maria, but he also should have finished up quicker. He should have been here, helping. He reached out to steady the rack’s top bar. “Let me,” he said.

There was thick silence but then Steve grunted his assent. Bucky lifted the rack over the lip and guide it to the van that waited near the wheelchair ramp.

“This yours?” Bucky asked.

Steve fished a set of keys out of his pocket and, honestly, Bucky was surprised he fit those keys in his skinny jeans in the first place. He jingled them at Bucky and used them to unlock the back doors. He swung them open. Inside, it was already packed with two more racks, only room for one more.

Bucky frowned. “Is there a ramp?”

“Kinda,” Steve grinned a little bit. He leaned into the back of the van, digging next to the rack. He pulled out two pieces of dirty wood that looked like they’d been pulled off an old pallet. Rusty nails included.

“Please don’t get tetanus,” Bucky begged while Steve set up the makeshift ramp. One set of ends were propped up against the truck bed and the others were dropped in front of the rack wheels. Bucky braced himself against the back of the rack while Steve climbed into the truck bed.

Bucky pushed and Steve dragged the rack up the makeshift ramp. As soon as the second set of wheels left the top end of the slabs, they shot back from the van. Bucky darted out of the way, though the wood clipped his feet before skittering onto the sidewalk. He was suddenly very grateful for his boots.

Steve crowed from within the van. He hauled himself up and out, squeezing between plastic-wrapped pieces and rack bars. “Okay, this one’s full,” he told Bucky, grabbing the top of the van from inside the cargo area.

“Full of somethin’,” Bucky teased as he reached up. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and easily lifted him out of the back before setting him down on the sidewalk.

There was a moment where Steve looked like he was going to swat Bucky for daring to imply that he couldn’t climb down by himself. Instead, Steve laid his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “You always have the best timing.”

“Sorry. I wished I could’ve helped from the beginning,” Bucky said with a smile. He reached up, smoothing Steve’s mussed hair from his face. “I had to take some time to quit my job.”

“Nah, you’re fine, we’ve made it this far--” But then Steve grasped what Bucky said. “Wait, what?”

“I quit,” Bucky repeated. “I had to.”

“That usually means you were going to get fired, so you headed them off,” Steve said with a frown.

“I mean…” Bucky straightened up and gave a little shrug. “I mean, technically, I probably could have been. I don’t think Maria was going to. She seemed really shocked.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s shoulder, worried he was going to back up and leave him without answers. He accused, “You’re not telling me everything.”

“I know,” Bucky sighed. He could explain it, and he would, but it would all seem too simple. “Last night. Technically because you’re an asset--”

“--I’m guessing that’s not a sexy pun about my ass,” Steve said with a pout.

“I’ll come up with a better sexy pun about your ass later.” Bucky promised. He touched the hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “The agency says we’re not supposed to be fraternizing. I’m supposed to keep it all compartmentalized. But that’s impossible with you.”

Steve studied Bucky. He turned his hand up so he could take Bucky’s, then guided it down to swing between them. “You’re an idiot, Barnes. Giving up your job for me.”

It wasn’t exactly the reaction Bucky had been expecting. He furrowed his brows and frowned at Steve.

Steve’s own frown softened and he raised Bucky’s hand to kiss his metal knuckles. “You’re a romantic idiot. But you’re an idiot. We would’ve figured something out.”

“We would have had to keep it secret,” Bucky explained. “And as much as I know you enjoy breaking rules, it would have been a lot worse to be discovered later.” There were a couple beats of silence before Bucky smiled. He bumped his knuckles gently against Steve’s mouth. “Besides… This means I can stay here with you.”

Steve’s eyes darted up to Bucky. A small smile appeared on his lips, then he tugged Bucky forward. He rose up to kiss him before pulling back and giving his hand a playful tug, “I’ve got to get to the venue. Ride with me?”

Bucky smiled and nodded, “Wouldn’t wanna be any place else.”

Steve released Bucky. The keys jingled as Steve unlocked the driver’s door. Bucky leaned around the side of the van to watch him climb into place. He made quick work of picking up the ramp pieces, sliding them between the racks, closing the back doors, and finally climbing into the passenger seat.

“I didn’t know you knew how to drive,” Bucky commented as he buckled in.

“Just because I didn’t take driver’s ed in high school like you did, doesn’t mean I didn’t learn.” Steve grinned slyly, turned the ignition, and peeled out of the parking lot with a screech of tires.

* * *

Steve negotiated the van into the loading dock of the venue with the skill of someone who had clearly done this before. It didn’t stop Bucky from holding onto the handle above the passenger window or from holding his breath while Steve backed the vehicle into the spot all in one swing.

“I am not going to crash,” Steve insisted once he’d parked the van and pulled up the parking brake.

He looked pointed at Bucky who lowered his hand and exhaled, heart beating a mile a minute. Bucky smiled sheepishly, “Considering I spent half the drive thinking you don’t have a license, how could I be sure you weren’t going to scratch the paint job?”

Steve snorted, shook his head, and popped out of the driver’s seat. He hopped down and was greeted by security. He handed over his pass and leaned over to watch the man fill out some information on a tablet. Bucky soon joined him.

The guard handed back Steve’s pass, “Thank you, Mr. Rogers. I’ll have some of our staff members help you bring your supplies to your section.”

Steve smiled brightly, thanked him, and turned to Bucky. “Open the van,” he sang, pointing at the back doors.

Obediently reaching for the doors, Bucky scoffed, “You’re lucky I like you. Normally I don’t take orders.”

“You didn’t say that last night,” Steve said conspiratorially, in a stage whisper. The security guard behind them was definitely not listening and was definitely not planning on tweeting about it as soon as Steve and Bucky left their sight.

Between the two of them and a couple helpful staff members, the racks of clothing were soon settled in Steve’s section backstage. On the way, they’d very nearly lost individual garment bags and an entire rack to herds of models and frazzled designers.

Bucky looked at them with apprehension. Steve was going to be a bundle of nerves tomorrow. Heck, he was surprised he wasn’t already.

Steve felt like he might explode.

Steve adjusted his glasses once he and Bucky were alone. (Truthfully, they weren’t alone and it seemed likely they weren’t going to be alone for a long while.) The pitter patter of heels on cement, voices rising together, cackling laughter, shouting… it was all mind-numbing. He hoped complete numbness would hit soon. He had a job to do.

“Steve, you okay?”

Steve looked up to find Bucky looking at him, brows knit with concern. He quickly smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He promised, “I’m fine. Just got a lot to get ready before tomorrow.”

Bucky reached out to caress Steve’s cheek to guide him in for a chaste kiss. He pulled back and said, “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Steve directed Bucky to start unzipping garment bags and stripping them from the hanging outfits. He handed each bag to careful folding and stashing, until the show was over. Mindless work gave Steve time to go over the checklist in his mind. They were halfway through the garments when heavy footsteps followed by wheels stopped at the edge of their section. He looked up at the disturbance and his expression softened when he saw Sam dragging a trunk off the trolley.

“No need to give me those dagger eyes,” Sam scolded as he straightened up, rubbing the middle of his back. “That trunk is heavy.”

“Sorry, Sam,” Steve left the bags so he could give Sam a quick hug in greeting.

Sam smiled and returned the hug. He glanced over Steve’s shoulder and watched Bucky working. He rolled his eyes, then pulled back, making sure his face was schooled into something less hateful towards Steve’s boytoy.

“Thanks, you just helped me with one of my checklist items,” Steve said, tapping the side of his head briefly. He knelt to open the trunk and peered inside at all of their printed banners.

“Maybe you should start writing shit down, Steve,” Sam suggested. He looked up again and spotted a pair of men walking towards them. He scowled and said quickly and quietly, “Look alive, Rogers. Our favorite pricks are heading right for us.”

Steve’s head jerked up. He narrowed his eyes and stood. Once he made eye contact with the older man of the two, his fair hair pushed to the side and horn-rimmed glasses balanced on his nose, he forced a smile. It was not friendly. It was closer to a chimp baring its teeth at another chimp with which it wanted to pick a fight. Alexander Pierce was a dick of the highest caliber and Steve was not interested in playing nice.

Backstage of Fashion Week was probably not the best place for a knock-down drag-out brawl, especially not with a geriatric senior citizen. Steve thought he should try calling him that to his face. He would _love_ that.

“Alex,” Steve said, excessively saccharine. Such familiarity was like rubbing steel wool over his ex-boss’ bare skin.

“Steve,” Alex acknowledged, his voice icy.

The shorter man next to Alex, black hair slicked back and a carefully groomed five o’clock shadow, narrowed his eyes. The scowl deepened when Steve smiled sweetly at him and purred, “Oh, Brock. Your nose is looking much better now. Straighter.”

That caught Bucky’s attention. Bucky set aside the garment bag he was working on and turned to watch the showdown that was happening. The only things missing were tumbleweeds and a pair of six shooters. He immediately recognized Alexander Pierce from his investigation. He was the money, Arnim Zola was the designer (and he was absolutely somewhere around here), and the guy standing next to him was… Brock Rumlow, the man that Steve punched in the nose for calling Sam a slur. Bucky actually laughed before he could stop himself.

Brock’s head snapped, focusing his glare on Bucky.

Steve’s own grin widened. “Brock, Alex, this is my boyfriend, Bucky.”

Brock sneered at Bucky, “Oh, look, your first gold-digging boytoy. You’re finally rising up in the industry.”

Steve scowled at that.

Alex ignored them both, examining the pieces on the rack. “You’ve got quite the collection here, Steve,” he sniffed. “It’s quite eclectic. What’s your theme?”

Steve didn’t like that tone. Alex always had a way of burrowing into his brain, finding the most insecure part of himself, the part that said: You don’t deserve to be here. Steve didn’t like the part of himself that always thought Alex was right. He lifted his chin, and mimicking Alex’s tone, answered, “Eclecticism.”

Sam smiled at that, stifling a laugh.

Alex turned to look at him again. The eyes hidden behind those thick glasses were cold. “Clearly you haven’t changed since we fired you. Good luck, Steve. I hope your amateur attitude doesn’t come across in your show.” He smiled viciously and continued down the hall.

Brock eyed Steve for a moment longer before stalking after Alex.

Sam waited until they left before sighing out a breath, “Surprise, they’re still assholes.”

Steve turned towards Sam and said quietly and quickly, “What is my theme?”

Sam shook his head and smiled at Steve. “Baby, your theme is _you_. Don’t listen to what they said. They’re only trying to get inside your head. You’re going to knock ‘em all dead tomorrow.”

After a moment of hesitation, Steve took in a deep breath and nodded. “Yep. Yeah. You’re right, Sammy.”

“Of course I am. That’s why you hired me.”

Steve stood and stared after the two departing men. They’d long since turned a corner, nowhere to be seen. Sam watched him for a moment, then touched his shoulder. “Come on. Your boytoy needs to help you finish opening the garment bags and then we’ll make a checklist. You’re not doing this alone.”

Sam lifted his head to look pointedly at Bucky.

Bucky nodded just as quickly in agreement, “Yeah, Steve. We’re here to do whatever you need to get this done.” He had no idea what he was doing, but he could follow directions and take hints. Clearly.

Steve scowled in the direction the two had gone, then he nodded. “Fuck ‘em. This collection is going to be better than any stupid ready-to-wear garbage they’ll make.” He turned on his heel and stalked back to the desk. “Garment bags,” he ordered and pointed. “Sammy, unload the trunk and get the banner hanging.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Sam saluted and knelt to grab the first fabric banner from the top of the trunk.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky did everything Sam and Steve told him to. God knows he didn’t know anything about what he was actually doing. They did. Between the three of them, they got Steve’s collection unwrapped and arranged, labeled with numbers and names, got his banner set up, double checked the previous clothing arrangements, forced Steve to eat some food that Bucky had run out to grab, triple checked the clothing arrangements against the list of Steve’s models, rearranged the outfits, steamed the banner, got Steve to drink some water, and then, finally, they were set.

Set was such an optimistic word. Even though they all agreed they could do no more until tomorrow morning, Bucky still had to drag Steve back out to the van. He considered picking him up, throwing him over his shoulder, and carrying him out, but he expected a knee in the gut, regardless of how exhausted Steve clearly was.

Bucky drove the van back to Steve’s studio. It was a quiet drive. Steve was still working, slipping through photos on his phone of his models and the pieces and other things Bucky was sure were important for his show tomorrow.

It got quieter when they switched to Bucky’s car to head back to Steve’s apartment. At the first light, Bucky glanced over. He found Steve leaning against the window and dozing quietly. His hand was down in his lap, the phone nearly slipping from his fingers. Bucky reached over, plucked it out of his lap and tucked it into the drink holder.

They arrived at Steve’s apartment and Bucky felt bad about having to wake him up. He reached over and shook Steve’s shoulder gently.

“Hey, we’re home,” he coaxed.

He hadn’t realized he’d said it initially. ‘Home’ had just come so fluently.

Steve didn’t notice. He grumbled and clumsily pawed open the door. Bucky followed quickly, after fishing Steve’s phone from the cup holder. He caught up in time to prevent Steve from getting too deeply into the ‘where’s my phone?’ panicked pat-down.

Bucky handed it over and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. He mumbled a thank you and leaned into Bucky’s arm when it came around his shoulders.

Once in the apartment, after some fumbling with the keys, Steve headed towards the bedroom. Bucky thought he saw him pull up an alarm app, but he was already down the hallway before he could really check.

He smiled crookedly and turned to lock up.

* * *

It wasn’t an alarm that woke Bucky up. It was Steve crawling toward the end of the bed to avoid crawling over his body.

Bucky blinked blearily. The room itself was still illuminated by street lights, Steve padded down the hallway, and when Bucky managed to focus, he saw that the clock on the nightstand said 3:02.

In the morning?

The bathroom door closed. The light flicked on and the vent hummed to life.

Oh. Steve was just going to the bathroom.

Bucky dropped his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. The next time he opened them, the clock said 4:15. It was still pitch-black outside, except for those street lights. Down the hallway, Bucky could still see a glow beneath the bathroom door.

Bucky was concerned. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then staggered out of the bed and down the hall.

He rapped lightly on the door.

“Stevie, you okay?” he asked, his voice still thick and slightly slurred from sleep.

Just as quickly Steve opened the door. He was clearly newly clean, pink-cheeked and bright eyed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he promised. He smiled, then gestured at Bucky. “Go on. You’ve got a couple more hours to sleep. I’ve got to get ready.”

Bucky looked past Steve to the bathroom counter. It was full of different powders and brushes and paints, and then he understood.

“You don’t need my help?” he asked. The idea of going back to bed for those couple more hours seemed like the most brilliant plan he’d ever heard.

Steve grinned at Bucky and asked, teasingly, “You gonna help me get dressed and put on make-up?”

Bucky shook his head no. “Nah, I’m not much use at that.”

“That’s what I thought. So go back to bed.” Steve leaned up and pecked Bucky on the lips.

Bucky did as he was told, returning to the bedroom. He barely remembered climbing back into bed and pulling the blankets up to his chin.

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to Steve shaking him awake. He blinked up at Steve and for a moment, he didn’t recognize him.

Steve had carefully made up his face. He’d carved his already severe bone structure razor-sharp, and painted a smoky backdrop for his bright blue eyes. He grinned expectantly at Bucky with coral-painted lips. The last thing Bucky noticed were blue stripes scattered throughout his blond hair.

The smile fell away after a moment. Steve twisted his long-fingered hands together. “Buck? Say somethin’, you’re making me nervous.”

Oh, that’s what Steve wanted.

Bucky sat up, pushing back the blankets, and he gestured. “Step back. Let me see you.”

When Steve did as asked, Bucky looked him up and down. His gaze lingered on each part of Steve’s outfit; there was just so much to take in. He’d picked black ankle boots with a thick wooden heel and embroidered with vibrant flowers, dark gray skinny jeans, and a ruffled red sweater that pictured a volcano shooting blue and white flowers into the air. It was… _a look_.

Buck grinned slyly. “You’re a work of art, Steve,” he purred.

Steve’s self-consciousness melted away. He smiled brightly at Bucky, then leaned forward to kiss the top of his head. “You have enough time to shower and dress before we’ve got to go,” he said. “You should get moving.”

Bucky snorted his amusement and stood. “Glad you’ve left enough time for your team to appreciate your outfit too.”

“Well, duh, I need someone else to recognize that I’m a work of art,” Steve teased. “Get. I’ll pick out your outfit.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinned and headed towards the bathroom. After his shower, he found the clothes Steve had picked out for him folded up neatly in the hallway. Steve was chatting away in the living room to someone on his phone. Bucky could only imagine what he still had left to arrange.

He picked up the clothes and dressed. The outfit made him feel a little bit like a 70’s sex pot: A silken black blouse with purple printed flowers all over it, washed out jeans, and a statement necklace he figured might get lost in the shirt’s pattern. He squinted at himself in the mirror, ruffled his damp hair, and headed out to the living room.

Bucky didn’t get a word out. Steve peered up at him from behind those large glasses, grinned, and said, “Yeah. We’ll be there shortly. Half hour, tops.”

That sounded very optimistic.

Steve hung up and bounced over to Bucky. He patted his chest fondly, found the necklace, and he gave it a little tug. “You’ve got it buttoned up to your throat,” he said.

Bucky frowned a bit, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

He didn’t get the entire thought out. Steve reached out and undid all but the one button in the center of Bucky’s chest. Then he released the necklace and let it sit in the middle of the v.

“There you go,” Steve said with a grin.

Bucky glanced down at himself. He hadn’t been far off when he thought about the 70’s. But, if Steve decided this looked good…

“Boots and your jacket,” Steve directed, pointing over to the couch.

Bucky obliged, sitting down on the couch so he could pull on his boots. “You’re very chipper for someone who woke up at 3 a.m.”

“I had like six cups of coffee already,” Steve quipped. He paced the length of the room, flicking through screens on his phone.

Judging by the way he moved, they were clearly not decaf.

“You’re not allowed to die of a heart attack,” Bucky insisted, as he finished lacing the boots.

“Nope, not until after my show.”

“Not ever,” Bucky insisted. He stood, then reached back for his new leather coat. He pulled it on, and looked at Steve. “Coat, babe.”

Steve looked up from his phone and obediently went to fetch his trenchcoat. Bucky frowned in concern. He followed after Steve, already deciding that he’d just have to do everything he could to help Steve today.

“Cane?” he asked.

Steve grabbed it from a hook by the door.

“Clearly you have your phone… Keys? Passes? Wallet?”

“Pockets.”

“Grand.” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s back and smiled at him. “Ready?”

Steve lowered his phone, and looked up at Bucky. He took in a deep breath, grinned, and nodded, “Ready.” He reached out and pushed open the door.

* * *

Their passes got them through the front door no problem and Bucky gaped around at the venue. It was modern, decorated with vines and lights and other things that Bucky couldn’t quite identify. Music thumped over the speakers. Models, designers, journalists, and celebrities were already milling around, chatting and making their way to shows or backstage.

They were still early. Bucky couldn’t imagine how many more people would fill this space soon enough.

Steve checked his phone and said to Bucky, “We’ve got just over an hour before my kids show up.”

Bucky had nearly forgotten about the high schoolers.

“Let’s walk around and see some sights?” Steve asked and held his hand out to Bucky.

Bucky smiled and nodded. He took Steve’s hand and let him lead them forward.

They wove through people, booths selling overpriced coffee and desserts, and catwalks. Steve greeted several people and introduced Bucky to each of them. If Bucky thought Steve’s outfit was interesting, it was boring compared to some of the others he saw. A few took interesting to a whole new level.

It wasn’t too different from what he expected. He figured he’d be introduced to many people, play nice, and wander around to see if he could listen in on anything juicy. Of course, he planned on doing all his investigating near Haus Hydra’s backstage. This was much more scattershot and… well, he wasn’t working. He shouldn’t be collecting information.

But he still cared.

While they walked around, Bucky spotted a couple familiar figures; two were clearly being held hostage by a talkative third party. Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, head of R&D and CEO of Stark Industries respectively, having their ears talked off by a short, balding man in a pure white suit. Bucky recognized him from his research, and from the magazine he and Steve had been featured in: Arnim Zola.

Bucky tapped Steve’s hand and pointed at the tense negotiations.

Arnim was gesticulating wildly, his entire focus on Tony Stark. “A collaboration such as ours could tear the industry from this nonsensical intertextual bricolage. Fashion was best when it was modernist.”

It sounded like word salad to Bucky, but based on Tony’s body language, Tony found it all very offensive. “Mr. Zola,” he responded, “I’m just in charge of making fun things. Pepper is the true brains behind the operation.”

Arnim looked at Pepper, then back at Tony, “But you are the inspiration!”

Steve narrowed his eyes. He tugged Bucky after him and they made their way to the happy trio.

“Tony~” he sang, transforming the determined look on his face to a full smile. “Pepper~”

Both of them turned and the relief was evident on Tony’s face and in Pepper’s posture. She seemed someone professional at hiding her distaste, but even a strong woman like her must have limits.

“Steve,” she greeted. She took his face in her hands and pressed kisses to each of his cheeks. Steve returned the gesture, then gave Tony a hug. He pulled back and held Tony at arm’s length giving him a look up and down.

“Man, my collection looks good on you,” Steve commented loudly.

Behind Pepper and Tony, Zola’s pale skin was visibly reddening. Bucky tried not to smile too much, though he couldn’t resist when Zola stalked off.

Pepper glanced behind her to watch Zola go, then she breathed a sigh of relief. She looked back at Bucky and gave him a sweet smile, offering her perfectly manicured hand, “Hi. I’m Pepper Potts. You are…?”

Bucky shook her hand. “Bucky Barnes, I uh… I’m Steve’s boyfriend.”

Tony looked up at that name. He studied Bucky for a little bit, then dropped his eyes down. He saw the metal hand and recognition lit up his face. “Oh, you’re in my program!”

Bucky curled his metal fingers into a fist self-consciously. He looked back at Tony and gave him a sheepish grin. “Yeah. We’ve met a couple times.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully, “I had no idea you were dating Steve. If I’d known, you probably would’ve gotten in the program sooner.”

Steve puffed out a breath, giving Tony’s arm a gentle swat. “Psh. No need for nepotism. Bucky earned it on his own merit.”

Yeah, merit. Bucky smiled tightly, nervously. “We just started seeing each other, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony, please,” Tony interrupted. “And congrats.” He grinned brightly, “Steve needs an upstanding gent like you.”

Bucky wondered just how much Tony actually remembered from their brief sessions together.

“You got a seat for the show?” Tony asked him. “You could come hang out with us.”

Bucky glanced at Steve. who smiled brightly at him, “If I don’t need him backstage though, he’s been very helpful. Maybe during another show.” He glanced at his phone again. Steve still had plenty of time before he had to fetch his herd of kids.

“We boring you, Steve?” Tony teased.

“I know something that’ll interest you,” Pepper hummed. “We were thinking about doing some kind of project with the robotics that Tony’s been developing. However, we need an artistic eye for it--”

Bucky’s phone went off in his pocket and without thinking, he picked it up. It was probably Maria. She’s been calling him every hour or two, and he was sick of it. He made his decision crystal clear and she just had accept it. “Excuse me,” he said to the group. He turned and pressed the phone to his ear, “Maria, listen, I’m not coming--”

“Who’s Maria?” came an unfamiliar gruff voice from the speaker.

“Who are _you_?” Bucky asked, his brow furrowing.

“I’m lookin’ for Agent Barnes,” said the man on the phone.

It wasn’t an answer, “Look, guy, I don’t know who you are, but--”

“--My name is Nick Fury. I’m with Customs.”

Customs? Bucky’s eyes widened. It was the other operative Maria had mentioned.

Agent Fury continued, “There’s no need for fancy introductions. I have important information I need to tell you. You’re at Fashion Week, right?”

Bucky looked around. He should say that he’d quit. He was a civilian now. But his eyes landed on Steve, who was laughing with his friends. “Yeah, I’m here. It’s a zoo.”

“Shit.”

“...What, why?” Bucky could feel a knot growing in his stomach.

“There’s a guy. Brock Rumlow. I overheard him saying he’s gonna take revenge on someone. And Alexander Pierce was encouraging it.”

That knot became an outright punch in the gut. “What do you mean you overheard it?” he hissed.

“It’s amazing the shit they say in front of people they think are less than them. You blend in easier as a service worker than anything else.”

That threw Bucky into a loop, but it didn’t matter, not with what this man was telling him. “Tell me what he said exactly.”

“Just that it would be the perfect time to get his revenge. That some kid was on the up-and-up and needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Did he say how? When?” Bucky squeezed the phone. Like that would get him more information, faster. “Who?” Even though he knows exactly who Rumlow has a vendetta against.

“He didn’t say. Just that today was the perfect day. You know what he looks like, right? Stocky dude, slicked back hair, beard, and a smug smirk on his face that just screams, ‘I’m a bitch.’”

“I know, I know--”

“--Look, if you manage to stop an attempted assault, that’s enough to put at least one of them away. And I bet a guy that looks like a bitch sings like a canary too. We could get Pierce for intent.”

Bucky breathed out shakily. “I’ll deal with it, but I’ll need back up.”

“I’m already on it, Barnes. You find the asshole before he ruins some kid’s life or injures civilians in the process.”

Agent Fury hung up. Bucky found himself staring at his phone. His hand shook with emotion.

“Hey, Buck, you okay?” Steve’s voice piped up from behind him. Bucky turned to look at Steve and forced himself to smile quickly. There was no way he could tell Steve what he’d heard. No way he could let anything ruin this day for Steve. He would just have to find Rumlow and stop him and Steve will have a flawless show and his kids will learn so much, and just--

“Bucky,” Steve insisted. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Bucky lowered the phone and tucked it into his pocket. “Just talked to Maria. She’s guilting me for quitting. It’s not exactly the confrontation I wanted today.”

Steve’s expression softened, brows knitting together in concern. “Oh. Well, that sucks. Would a donut help? Or coffee? I was going to head back to the entrance, just in case some of those kids are early birds. We can stop by one of the booths on the way.”

Bucky was not about to leave Steve’s side. “Nah, I’m all right.”

He reached for Steve’s hand again. Steve weaved their fingers together and lead him towards the front.

Between saying hi to more of Steve’s friends and stopping to get a frankly expensive cup of coffee, they arrived at the agreed upon meeting spot. Sure enough, there were already two gangly teenage girls standing with their heads together, whispering, and when they spotted Steve, they just barely resisted squealing.

“Mr. Rogers!” the taller of the two exclaimed. She was a young Latina woman with dark wavy hair and a build that Bucky expected from some of the FBI’s younger recruits. She looked like she could lift Steve over her head with one hand, and wouldn’t even break a sweat. There were stars in her eyes when she faced Steve.

Bucky forgot all about his fear for just a moment. He was proud of Steve.

Steve grinned and stepped up to the girls. He tapped his lip and said, “You’re America, right?”

The girl, America, nodded quickly. Steve looked at the second girl, probably of South Asian descent, smaller and shorter in stature than America, with straight black hair and dark eyes. “And you’re Kamala,” he greeted.

Kamala grinned brightly.

“You both can call me Steve,” he continued.

Bucky noticed a change in the way Steve held himself. He was straighter and taller, even with those heels. It was his way of taking charge, projecting himself into the situation. (Though Bucky couldn’t imagine these two misbehaving. Not here.)

“This is my boyfriend Bucky. He’ll be helping out today too,” Steve gestured over his shoulder.

Bucky quickly raised his hand to wave and smiled at the girls.

While Steve and the girls chatted, Bucky looked around. The sidewalk was crowded with people waiting to get in, with people looking for celebrities, journalists, bloggers, lookie-loos, and tourists. It was making him more and more nervous.

He looked back at Steve when more people approached him. They were teenagers, all practically vibrating with excitement. All of them were wearing their own passes. Steve took photos with them, laughed, joked, and soon he turned around and held his head high.

Steve told the kids to follow him, and he made his way back through the entrance. The kids followed like helpless ducklings, and Bucky brought up the rear. No matter what position he was in… he felt like it wasn’t enough. They were vulnerable from all directions.

Steve brought his gaggle to the center of the mass of people. Of course, Bucky thought bitterly. But he wasn’t about to stop Steve. He didn’t want to ruin his day, not if nothing happened.

They took a lap around the venue, where Steve pointed out different designers, models, and his favorite brands. The kids took photos and asked questions. When they finally made it around to where Steve would be showing later that morning, Bucky could have cried with relief when Steve announced, “We’ve got a show to get ready for. Let’s go back stage.”

Backstage wasn’t perfectly safe, but there were less entrances, less exits, and less people. Or at least there had been yesterday. When they stepped behind the curtains, Bucky’s stomach dropped. The backstage area was packed with troupes of models clomping around, designers and other employees rushing back and forth. Even Steve’s specific area, the one they’d so carefully set up last night, was packed with people. The noise alone was deafening.

Steve yelled over the roar of people, explaining what they needed to do to get ready for the show. Bucky barely listened. His mind raced with possibilities.

His eyes landed on Sam, who was double checking all of the garments on the rack. He snapped at someone who got too close, “Watch the art.”

Bucky was going to need him. With Steve still in his sight, he rushed up to Sam.

Sam, in turn, scowled when Bucky approached, “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you,” Bucky pleaded.

There was a moment where Sam opened his mouth to obviously say ‘no’. But when his dark eyes roamed over Bucky’s face, seeing the open panic Bucky felt, he snapped again, “Fine. What is it?”

Bucky leaned closer and Sam stiffened, pulling his lip back in a snarl. Before Sam could tell him to ‘fuck off,’ Bucky hissed into Sam’s ear, “Someone’s threatened Steve.”

Sam frowned and stared at Bucky, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about? Who’s threatened him?”

“Rumlow. He said he’s going to get revenge.”

“And how do _you_ know?” Sam demanded.

“I got a call. A tip. Someone who overheard Rumlow and Pierce talking--”

“Overheard? How the fuck do you know someone in the position to _overhear_ Rumlow?” Sam pushed Bucky away. “You’re crazy, man. I always knew Steve had bad taste in men, but this takes the cake. I’m going to tell him--”

“No! You don’t understand--” Bucky knew this was dumb. Really dumb. But it wouldn’t be the first rule he’d broken today. “FBI. I’m an FBI agent. Steve’s been helping me with an investigation.”

Sam kept his arm up to stop Bucky from getting closer. He squinted at him and then barked out a laugh. “Oh, yeah, fucking right. Where’s your badge?”

“I--” Bucky breathed out. “I don’t have a badge. I quit. Yesterday. It’s complicated--”

“You’re off your rocker. As soon as this day is done, I’m getting Steve to dump your crazy ass,” Sam snapped. He turned from Bucky, though another thought seemed to have occurred to him. He turned and jabbed a finger in Bucky’s chest, “If you ruin this day for him, I will make sure they never find your body. Got it?”

Bucky’s mouth flapped a couple times, but he nodded. “Got it,” he said quietly. What else could he do?

He backed away from Sam, who quickly turned back to what he was doing.

Steve caught up to him, snagged his sleeve and tugged him closer, “What was that about?”

Another chance to tell the truth. Another chance to ruin Steve’s day on a tip from some guy he’d never met. A probable tip. On a day that Steve has worked his entire life to get to.

“He says I’m just gonna get in his way,” Bucky finally said. “What do you need me to do?”

* * *

Each model strutted down the runway, showcasing elaborate, artistic pieces to music that might have come from a futuristic sci-fi epic akin to The Fifth Element. Each piece became progressively inhuman, culminating in Sam, God of Thunder.

The jacket was floor length and closed entirely around his body except for the tapered sleeves and the billowing hood. Sam made his way down the runway and each step, timed with the music, caused jolts of electricity to jump up and down the length of the coat. He reached the end of the runway and the lights and music dropped, to little gasps of surprise from the audience. In silence, Sam snapped his arms down, sending electricity up from his hands, across his shoulders, around the hood, and down again.

The lights came up. Sam lifted his head and lowered the hood and the audience applauded.

Bucky was seated beside Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. Steve had kicked him out as soon as preparations were finished and Bucky spent several minutes before the start of the show scanning the crowd. Everything was normal--as normal as a fashion show could really be. As soon as the show started, his entire attention had been on each and every piece coming down the runway.

Stupid.

He was so fucking _stupid._

Steve was the most talented human Bucky had ever seen. As soon as Steve started down the runway to meet Sam, fingers curled around a microphone. He waved at his audience and when he made eye contact with Bucky, he gave him a wink, then turned his attention back to the crowd.

He reached the end of the runway and turned to hug Sam. He faced the audience, smiling so hard that Bucky could already hear him complaining about a sore jaw at the end of tonight.

“Thank you all for showing up to my first Fashion Week show!” Steve exclaimed. He threw his hand up in the air, grinning brightly. “This has been an incredible experience.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw movement. He turned to look and saw Brock Rumlow standing, a head over the crowd. His heart in his throat, Bucky shot to his feet, chair clattering to the floor, and dashed towards the man.

On stage, Sam saw movement. He stared Rumlow in the face, watching him draw a large handgun from his pocket.

Sam turned to Steve, his back to Rumlow, and quickly wrapped Steve up in his arms.

There was a crack, a spark of fire, and smoke. Someone shrieked, and then the screaming.

Bucky slammed his body into Rumlow, sending them both crashing through a row of chairs, panicked civilians scattering in their wake. A twist of his wrist, and he pulled Rumlow’s arm behind his back, making him scream in pain. The handgun skittered across the floor, far out of reach. Rumlow squirmed beneath Bucky, trying to kick his way out from underneath him. Struggling to hold him down, Bucky smashed Rumlow’s face into the concrete, and blood spurted from his nose.

Bucky’s head snapped up and he made eye contact with a man frozen with fear. He barked, “Go, call security!” Spell broken, the man nodded and scampered off.

Rumlow groaned and Bucky punched with extreme prejudice.

“You piece of shit,” he hissed.

Bucky pushed up to his feet, still leaning over Rumlow. He turned him over and pushed down on his sternum with his metal arm. It whirred while Rumlow squirmed underneath, gasping for breath.

Brock glanced over his shoulder, blood smeared across his face, but he grinned wickedly. “At least I got one of ‘em.”

Bucky’s other hand curled into a fist. He snarled and raised his fist with intent, but someone grabbed his hand quickly and said, “That’s enough.” Bucky looked over his shoulder, finding a large, broad-shouldered bald man with a black shirt that read SECURITY in white letters.

Bucky flexed his fingers, then nodded. He stood, planting his foot on Rumlow’s chest. He gestured, “The FBI’s going to want this asshole. Keep him here until they come. I disarmed him, the gun’s over there.”

Security nodded, then knelt to take his place. Bucky staggered backwards and turned to look at the stage. Sam and Steve still stood there. Bucky’s blood ran cold and he quickly made his way through overturned chairs, returning to the stage.

On stage, Sam slumped to his knees. There was a clatter of metal on the walkway behind him, a noise lost in the rush of people leaving the area, screaming for help. Steve trembled. He stared, wide eyed, at Sam, shaking his head. He rushed out, hands grasping at Sam’s arms. “No. No, Sam. Sammy. Where?”

“Fuck,” Sam hissed, “That fucking hurt.”

Why wasn’t he losing consciousness? Why wasn’t he in more pain? Why wasn’t he unconscious? Or… dead?

Sam reached around to his back, expecting to find a wound. He pulled his hand back, but there was no blood on his fingers.

“What?” Sam murmured in disbelief, as Bucky pushed fallen chairs out of his way to get to them.

Steve stared at Sam’s palm. He squeezed his arms, then he leaned over his shoulder to look for himself. There was a spot at the small of Sam’s back, where the bolts of electricity sizzled around a black circle. He looked up and met Bucky’s gaze.

“He’s okay,” he breathed.

Bucky squinted at the back of the jacket and then spotted something glittering under the stage lights. He scooped it up to inspect it.

It was a bullet crushed by impact.

“What kinda fabric is this?” Bucky asked, holding out the twisted metal to Steve.

Steve grabbed the bullet, looked at it, then at Sam. He laughed breathlessly and tugged him into a relieved hug. “We gotta thank Shuri,” he whispered.

Bucky hopped up onto the stage and looked around. When his eyes landed on the entrance to the backstage, he spotted a shadowy figure crossing in front of Steve’s backdrop. The hall was clear of civilians, between the panicked dash for the door and security escorting everyone else out. There’s no way they would have missed someone backstage. His eyes narrowed and he looked back at Sam and Steve.

“Both of you get out of here. I think there’s someone hiding backstage,” Bucky said. He cut off Steve’s protests and pointed, “Go.”

Steve helped Sam stand. He helped Sam off the stage and through the mess of chairs. Sam was hobbling a bit, hand on his lower back.

Bucky turned and walked down the runway. He ducked into the backstage area. It was eerily empty, but the music still thumped on, echoing in the empty corridor. Bucky looked around. He hoped it was just some lost civilian. He wanted to make sure they were safe.

Then he felt something press into his back.

A cold voice ordered, “Stay still, Agent Barnes.”

His heart began to hammer against his ribcage. He recognized that voice from the showdown yesterday.

“Alexander Pierce,” Bucky said quietly.

“Oh, the FBI agent know my name,” Pierce hummed. He tapped the gun against Bucky’s back. “Take a couple steps forward, Agent.”

Bucky hesitated. Pierce pushed the gun again. Bucky did as bid. Soon they were entirely out of sight of the runway. His fingers flexed and unflexed. For all his training, there was little he could do to get away from a gun when it was this close.

“Kneel.”

Bucky dropped down to one knee, then his second. He breathed slow and easy, trying to calm his wildly thumping heart. It wasn’t helping. He glanced over his shoulder at Pierce again. The man was tall, severe, and dressed in some gaudy golden suit. He could only imagine what Steve had to say about it. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Pierce scowled at him. “What’s that for?” he asked Bucky.

“Steve would hate that fucking suit,” he said before turning away. Pierce cracked the butt of the gun against the side of his head, and stars burst in his vision. He slumped forward, grabbing onto his head. He could feel blood trickling from where the blow had broken the skin.

“I’m sure he’ll say something smart on Twitter about it,” Pierce snapped.

Bucky barked out a laugh and he squeezed his eyes shut, “Yeah. That’s right. Because Rumlow failed.”

Pierce sighed, “He’s always been fucking useless.”

Bucky frowned, his brow furrowing. He straightened up a bit more, only to feel the muzzle kiss the back of his head again. “Did you set him up to fail?” he asked.

Pierce snorted, “Whether or not he failed, he has accomplished something. He’s outlived his usefulness and now he’s gone. It’s just too bad he didn’t actually take care of Steve.”

“You just… threw him away?” Bucky asked. He opened his eyes and looked down the length of the backstage corridor. It was still empty. He hoped it would stay that way. Steve would call him self-sacrificing, but so long as he stayed safe and far away from Pierce, Bucky wouldn’t mind having his ear lectured off.

“It’s so easy to replace people like him. Everyone has a price. And it’s _cheap_.” He nudged the gun against Bucky’s head once more. “Did you know you could bribe an FBI agent for less than ten thousand dollars?”

“Bribe?” Bucky asked. “Who the fuck did you bribe?”

“Does it matter? Just know that someone sold you out. You’re even more shit at undercover work as you are at actually investigating.”

Bucky could hear the sickeningly sinister grin in Pierce’s words.

Pierce continued his villainous monologue, despite Bucky’s mind racing while he tried to process exactly what was happening, “Just know that your investigation--your life, Agent Barnes--is worth less than a brand new car.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the gunshot.

But then, a rush of clomping footsteps, followed by a fleshy, resounding thunk, and Pierce wheezed out a gasp. He dropped to his knees, just behind Bucky, and the gun was gone. Bucky scrambled forward and whipped around, fist raised to strike, just in time to watch Steve crack his cane across the side of Pierce’s head.

Steve was red in the face, panting and unsteady. He took a step over Pierce’s slumped form, making sure that he wasn’t getting up.

Bucky crawled forward on his knees to grab the gun from Pierce, pulled out the magazine, and swept it far away from the three of them. He watched it slide away, then looked up at Steve. Steve stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

He clamored to his feet and rushed forward. He wrapped his arms around Steve, picking him up and clutching him close. Bucky held him too tight in desperation, but Stave said not a word of protest.

Steve dropped his cane and wrapped his arms around Bucky in return.

“You didn’t follow me out,” Steve whined against his shoulder. His fingers dug into Bucky’s shoulders and he squeezed him again. “I had to come find you.”

“You fucking idiot.” Bucky turned his head and pressed his face to the side of Steve’s head. He choked on a laugh. “Thank you.”

* * *

Steve perched on the edge of the chair, his bare foot in Bucky’s lap. Bucky carefully wrapped his slender ankle in a roll of bandages that he borrowed from one of the first responders.

“I can’t believe you sprained your fucking ankle kicking Alexander Pierce in the balls,” Bucky muttered to himself, unable to stop the silly grin on his face.

Steve laughed and leaned forward, “Clearly you don’t know me very well, because that seems like the best reason to sprain my ankle.”

“At least it isn’t broken.” Bucky lifted his head to grin at Steve, but stopped when he saw someone approaching.

Maria stepped up to the two of them. Bucky had never seen her hesitant before and this was probably the closest he would ever get to it.

“You did great work, Bucky,” she said.

Even though she wasn’t his boss anymore, Bucky’s heart swelled. “Thank you.”

Maria looked at Steve and she held out her hand, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Steve. I’m Maria.”

Steve shook her hand and smiled a bit, “I can’t say I’ve heard a bunch about you, but it’s nice to meet you too. I’d stand, but…” He gestured down at his foot.

Maria waved him off and sat down on a chair beside Steve. She studied Bucky, watching him finish his ministrations and patting Steve’s foot fondly. “So,” she started.

“So,” Bucky repeated. He looked up at Maria, “You get anything from either of them yet?”

“Not yet. Once they’ve got their boo-boos all taken care of, we’ll get them into interrogation. Pierce’s lawyer is already here, so that’s a no-go, but…” Maria leaned forward onto her knees. “I haven’t figured out who the informant is yet, but I will.”

“I trust you,” Bucky agreed.

There was a silent moment before Maria said, “It would be a lot easier to figure it out if you were back on my team. Like that time we caught Sitwell skimming office supplies? Good times.”

Both Bucky and Steve looked at her. Steve, for once, kept his mouth shut. Bucky frowned thoughtfully, “Maria, I--”

“Look, we can work out the fraternization,” she looked at Steve and winced, “Sorry.” She turned her attention back to Bucky, “I’ll work it out. It’ll be a pain when this goes to trial and Steve has to testify, but you’re a talented agent and this wouldn’t have happened without you.”

Bucky smiled. There was no hesitation in his voice when he answered, “Thanks, but no thanks, Maria.”

Her expression stayed the same and she nodded, “I figured. But it was worth a shot.” She glanced at Steve and gave him a grin, “That must be some great sex.”

Bucky’s face went scarlet with embarrassment. Steve laughed, slapping his knees. He told Maria, with a mischievous glint in his eye, “Clearly.”

Maria grinned. “I’d like to know you better, Steve. You take care of Bucky.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve agreed, raising his hand in a mock salute.

Maria grinned and stood up. “Hang out until one of the investigators say you can go. It shouldn’t be too terribly long.”

“Can’t wait.” Bucky lowered Steve’s foot and stood. He and Maria hugged, then she disappeared into the crowd of professionals. Bucky watched her go, then he sat down next to Steve.

The two remained in comfortable silence for a couple long moments. Then Steve leaned onto Bucky’s shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but then the two were approached by a couple of men in cheap suits. One of them showed a badge that read FBI. “We’ll need statements,” he said.

Steve sat up with a little sigh. Bucky smiled and patted his knee. He stood when the second agent gestured to him. “I’ll be back soon, Steve.”

* * *

They were cleared to go after an hour. The investigators gave them business cards, said they’d be in touch, and bid them goodbye.

Steve picked up his ankle boots and his cane in one hand. Bucky hauled him up to his feet with the other. Steve had insisted on walking, even with his bad ankle. Bucky just did his best to support him while he hobbled in stockinged feet towards the entrance.

Bucky pushed open the door and was struck by the people-packed courtyard. Some of them were journalists and photographers, others were just there to see what awful thing had gone on. Bucky couldn’t blame them, but he really just wanted to get in his car and go home.

Steve took a breath and started towards them. “No way but forward,” he told Bucky gently.

A couple journalists took note of them and started shouting questions. Before Steve could answer, though, Tony Stark appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He raised his hands to the journalists and said, “It’s been a long day. Please contact my agent if you’re looking to talk with any of the people involved.”

He turned and threw his arm around both Steve and Bucky, guiding them away from the journalists. “Where’s your car?” he asked them.

Bucky pointed towards the parking lot, through the throng of reporters, securities, and lookie-loos. “Black Town Car back that way.”

“Helpful,” Tony teased. “We’ll drive you home tonight. Pepper’s waiting.” He squeezed Steve to him, helping him up off his bad ankle while they walked.

Tony’s presence kept the journalists at a wide berth. He didn’t look at them after addressing them the first time, but once Steve and Bucky were tucked into the back of a car, he turned and waved, then ducked inside. He closed the door behind them and called, “Happy, we’re all secure.”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Stark,” came the stern voice from the driver’s seat. The car rumbled to life, then pulled away.

Steve sat next to Bucky, facing Pepper and Tony, once he got settled. Other than the music playing on the radio, it was quiet for several minutes.

Pepper spoke first, “I can’t say anyone else at Fashion Week had as memorable of a show as you, Steve. The columns will be all a twitter for weeks to come.”

Steve laughed and lifted his hand, intertwined with Bucky’s, to rub at his face. “That’s… for sure,” he agreed. “At least Rumlow waited for the very end to strike and I got to show all my pieces. Very considerate of him, considering.”

Steve sounded so tired, despite the sarcasm. Bucky wasn’t the only one to notice. Tony offered, “Whatever you guys need, just ask.”

“Just sleep,” Steve responded. “And like… maybe fifteen drinks. Like those shots Nat makes with the vodka and the vanilla and the cream. Yum.”

Tony laughed.

Bucky hesitated. This was a chance he couldn’t pass up. “A job, actually. Would be great.”

Tony stopped laughing and he looked at Bucky. “A job?” he asked. He looked at Pepper, who nodded in agreement. Tony looked back at Bucky, “You’re hired. You start on the first of next month.”

Bucky blinked at Tony and Pepper. “I… can’t say I actually expected that to work,” he said finally with a big grin. “Thank you both.”

* * *

When the car dropped them off, Bucky finally felt the exhaustion hit him. He and Steve hobbled up to the apartment and dropped into bed together straight away. Bucky wanted to close his eyes and fall straight to sleep, but he couldn’t quite get there. Even though Steve was in his arms, even though they were tucked into his curtained, cool room, even though they were both safe…

“Are you really going to be happy here?” Steve asked Bucky.

Clearly he couldn’t rest either.

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, of course.”

“I mean, you worked so hard at being an FBI agent,” Steve patted his chest, then pushed himself up so he could peer at Bucky in the dark. “You should have taken that job back.”

“And leave you here?” Bucky asked. “Not a chance.” He grinned, “Besides, anything I’ll be doing for Stark Industries is sure to be just as interesting as trying to catch Nazis. I won’t miss the bureaucracy, that’s for sure.”

Steve grinned and leaned in. He pecked Bucky’s lips. “I love you, Bucky.”

“Love you too, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The life of a customs agent isn't always glamorous: 


	8. Epilogue

A year later, and Steve was perched on the edge of a chair, glasses on the tip of his nose, as he squinted at a sleeve seam that had popped while his model squirmed into it. He cursed, loudly, when his needle slipped too deep.

Instead of a yelp of pain, she laughed, “Good thing it’s on the prosthetic.”

Steve breathed out a sigh of relief. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. “Almost done, and then you can go.”

Sam looked out over the runway, then called back, “Okay, number nineteen! You’re on!”

He guided another young woman onto the stage. She looked ahead at the crowd and the returning model, clearly nervous.

Sam leaned in and whispered, “You’re going to kill this. Go.”

She didn’t hesitate. She walked out onto the stage and with every step, her delicate porcelain leg slipped through the slit in the glittering evening gown. She and Steve had carefully painted it with tiny flowers and leaves.

“Number twenty” Sam called back.

Steve finished the seam and leaned forward to bite the thread clear. The woman grinned at Steve, then trotted up to her place before heading out onto the runway.

When each model came back, Bucky greeted them and helped them into their next outfit. Twenty-one, twenty-two… Almost done!

The last piece, he was especially excited by. It had been a true collaboration between him and Steve, using fabric that Shuri had gifted them. The model wearing it, a former soldier like many of the others, had a metal arm. That metal arm had been decorated with colored plates that blended seamlessly into the fabric starting at her shoulder. When the model started down the runway, her outfit was structured like a suit of armor. The more she moved, the more the armor deconstructed itself, flowing behind her. Each tendril of fabric glowed as soon as it uncoiled from the structure. She reached the end of the runway and was surrounded by light-as-air, luminescent ribbons of fabric.

When she returned backstage, Steve quickly embraced her and laughed. “You did amazing!” he exclaimed.

Bucky rooted around the messy desk and found the microphones they’d been assigned. He picked them up, then offered his hand to Steve. “We’ll have to celebrate in a bit. First, we’ve got to say hi to our audience.”

Steve released his model and reached out for Bucky’s hand. He squeezed it. Bucky led them to the mouth of the stage. There, he leaned down and kissed him gently on the mouth, in full view of the audience. Steve leaned up into the kiss for just a moment. He turned back to the runway and told Bucky, “I’m ready.”

Bucky nodded and stepped out onto the stage with Steve, raising his hand to wave at the audience. They were greeted with thunderous applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thank you very much, too, to ElisAttack, for being a phenomenal artist and writing partner! :)

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the Captain America Reverse Big Band 2018. It's a collaboration with artist, ElisAttack. Prompt art and all art inspired by the story will be embedded where appropriate.


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